




























Copyright _ •••■ 


COPfRJGHT DEPOSIT* 




































































n Point 


Map of Lake George and Vicinity 










The Western Series of English and 


American Classics 


The Last of the Mohicans 

A Narrative of 1757 

BY 

£ 

J^FENIMORE COOPER 

“Mislike me not for my complexion, 

The shadowed livery of the burnished sun:’ 


Edited by 


Louise Pound, Ph. D. 
Professor of English 
in the 

University of Nebraska 


Harlow Publishing Co. 
Oklahoma City 
1931 









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63 


Copyright 1931 , By 
Hvhlow Publishing Co. 


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PREFACE 


For the publication of yet another school edition of 
Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans no apology is 
necessary. Though written more than a century ago 
it has never been displaced as a story of frontier 
adventure, woodcraft, and the contact of the red race 
and the white. Cooper’s Leather-Stocking Tales will 
probably remain the classic record of a romantic 
period. As the times they chronicle' recede, the 
chances are less and less that some stronger or more 
skilful successor will outdo Cooper in the fascinating 
field he preempted. Many generations of youth have 
read the Leather-Stocking Tales, the youth of other 
races and nations as well as Americans. Young 
people of coming centuries will continue to read them. 
The Last of the Mohicans and The Deerslayer are 
likely to hold their place in the cultural experience 
of those interested in the pioneer past of our country 
and in stirring adventure. They begin for the young 
reader the story of the settlement of a continent. 

The text of the present edition is that of the first 
edition, published in two volumes by H. C. Carey and 
I. Lea of Philadelphia in 1826, collated with the 
edition of 1859, printed in one volume by W. A. Town¬ 
send and Company, New York. There are many typo¬ 
graphical errors in the first edition. The French 
words especially are carelessly printed, and this holds 
true for many current editions. Cooper’s more im¬ 
portant revisions are indicated in the footnotes of the 
present volume. Often much can be learned from an 
author’s changes in his text if inquiry into his reasons 
for them be made. 

The Last of the Mohicans has been reprinted many 
times, sometimes inaccurately. Through faulty proof- 


11 


The Last of the Mohicans 


reading or through carelessness, some editions di¬ 
verge pretty far from the original. In the following 
pages, editorial modernization has been confined to 
spelling, punctuation, and capitalization. Mainly, the 
spellings, colour, honour, etc., have been simplified, and 
ancle, traveller, unrivalled, groupes, skreen, skrim - 
mage, risque, picquet, wo, ay have taken their usual 
present-day American forms. So have briar, drily, 
spectre, centre, sepulchre, sombre. For ever, any 
thing, every thing have been joined, and a few hy¬ 
phenations inserted or given up and other minor 
changes made. The chapter numbers of the second 
volume have Jbeen altered to make them continuous 
with those of the first volume. 

Because of the length of the book, the critical ap¬ 
paratus, annotations, etc., have been minimized. The 
present edition offers more comment and explanation 
than most of its predecessors—enough perhaps for a 
school edition—though less, from some points of view, 
than so important a work deserves. The glossaries 
and appendix at the close are innovations. Thanks 
are due to the Marshall Jones Company and to Har¬ 
per & Brothers, for permission to reprint the extracts 
included in the appendix. 

Louise Pound. 

University of Nebraska. 


CONTENTS 


Preface _ i 

Life and Works of J. F. Cooper _ iii 

Bibliography _ xx 

Cooper’s Introduction _xxi 

The Last of the Mohicans_ 1 

Glossary _520 

Proper Names _ 7 _525 

Suggestions to Teachers_529 

Appendix 


531 












' 










THE LIFE AND WORKS OF JAMES 
FENIMORE COOPER 


James Fenimore Cooper was born at Burlington, 
New Jersey, in 1789, the eleventh of twelve children. 
His father, William Cooper, was a Quaker; his mother 
was Swedish. Before he was thirteen months old the 
family moved to a large estate in the wilderness, by 
Otsego Lake, where the village of Cooperstown soon 
arose. Like Judge Temple in The Pathfinder , his 
father assumed the role of a great landlord in a 
pioneer community. He built a stately three-story 
house of the “manor” type, Otsego Hall, and lived 
much like an eighteenth-century English country gen¬ 
tleman. Cooper’s boyhood was spent among the heter¬ 
ogeneous population of a backwoods settlement, in¬ 
cluding trappers, traders, and half-breed Indians. He 
witnessed many exciting incidents that he later re¬ 
produced in The Pioneers and other books. 

The young Cooper attended the village school called 
“The Academy,” and later continued his studies un¬ 
der the Rector of St. Peter’s (Rev. Thomas Ellison) 
at Albany. In 1802, at the age of thirteen, he entered 
Yale. The distinguished Timothy Dwight was then 
its president. The youth was full of vitality, prank- 
loving, and somewhat insubordinate. When he was 
fifteen and in his junior year, he was dismissed from 
the institution. His offense, a story goes, was the 
exploding of gunpowder in the keyhole of a class¬ 
mate’s room. Probably, too, he gave little serious at¬ 
tention to the curriculum. Cooper was to become one 
of the most famous men of letters that ever entered 
Yale. Systematic study would have been a good dis¬ 
cipline for him, had he remained at Yale, unless it 
might have conventionalized his selection of themes 
and his modes of treatment. 

iii 


IV 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Cooper’s father then decided that he should enter 
the navy, perhaps as an outlet for his exuberance. 
There being then no naval school, he had to serve an 
apprenticeship in the merchant marine. The rough 
and dangerous character of this life is described by 
R. H. Dana, Jr., in his popular Two Years Before the 
Mast (1840). Cooper shipped as a common seaman, 
on a vessel bound for the Mediterranean ports. On 
his first voyage the ship was chased by pirates and 
stopped by British searching parties. These incidents 
Cooper afterwards utilized in his writing. He was 
especially fascinated, it is said, by storms. He de¬ 
scribes many storms realistically in his sea tales. 
He served on a merchantman and on gunboats and 
brigs. In 1808 he was commissioned midshipman 
and detailed to Lake Ontario. Later he used material 
from this experience in The Pathfinder. 

In 1811 he married Miss Susan Augusta de Lancey, 
a Tory, of Westchester County, New York. His wife 
objected to his naval career, and he resigned and lived 
as a landed proprietor at various points, managing 
his property. When he was past thirty he wrote, 
almost by accident, his first novel, Precaution, pub¬ 
lished in 1820, which dealt with English society life. 
After this he was permanently attracted to fiction 
writing. His next book was The Spy (1821), laid in 
Westchester County, New York. The theme is patri¬ 
otic, the action close to great happenings, and Gem 
eral Washington is brought in as a character, though 
historical events proper have no great role in the 
work. The Spy is usually termed the earliest Ameri¬ 
can historical novel. Next from Cooper’s pen came 
The Pioneers (1823), launching his frontiersman 
Leather-Stocking. 

Cooper removed to New York City after the success 
of The Spy, where he founded the Bread and Cheese 


The Last of the Mohicans 


v 


Club in 1824, having most of the leading literary and 
professional men of the city as members. The Pilot, 
the first American story of the sea, followed in 1823. 
In less than four years Cooper had published four 
novels of four distinct types, three of them new in 
America: a conventional novel of society life, a his¬ 
torical novel, a novel of the sea, and a novel of pio¬ 
neer life. Lionel Lincoln followed in 1825. In 1824 
when he was on a visit to Glen’s Falls his interest 
was attracted to the caverns in the river, and out of 
this experience came the episode of the fight with 
the Indians on the island and the whole exciting 
story of The Last of the Mohicans (1826), in which 
he tried the experiment of reviving the character 
shadowed forth in The Pioneers. 

In 1826 Cooper went abroad as consul to Lyons, 
France. He never actually served as consul, however, 
and soon resigned. He remained abroad seven years, 
visiting England, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, 
though he remained mostly in France. His travels 
did not keep him from writing. He published The 
Prairie, in which he described the death and burial 
of the hero launched in The Pioneers, in 1827. It 
was followed by The Red Rover, another sea story, 
in 1828, The Wept of Wish-ton-Wish in 1829, and 
The Water Witch in 1830. The sales of his books 
were large, both abroad and at home. Three of his 
novels have European settings, The Bravo (1831), 
the scene of which is Venice, The Heidenmauer 
(1832), a story of Germany, and The Headsman 
(1833), localized in Switzerland. 

Cooper had a fiery temper and did not shrink from 
controversies. These brought a decline in his per¬ 
sonal popularity soon after he left America. Irritated 
by European ignorance, he championed his country 
abroad, and his relations with Europeans soon con- 


vi 


The Last of the Mohicans 


trasted with the cordial relations maintained by Irving 
when in Europe. He fought misconceptions of Amer¬ 
ica and the calumnies of those who had traveled 
there. He tried also to introduce reforms in his own 
country, to which he returned in 1833. He thought 
Americans too self-satisfied, given to braggadocio, 
overpatriotic, and lacking in culture. His criticism 
was penetrating and valid enough, and the less sen¬ 
sitive Americans of today would be little perturbed 
by anything of the kind. But Cooper’s fellow coun¬ 
trymen were soon as antagonistic as were the English. 

Cooper settled at his old home, Cooperstown, after 
his return to America. During most of the last fif¬ 
teen years of his life he engaged in quarrels, anger¬ 
ing the press and the politicians. His satirical novel, 
The Monikins (1835), did not help his popularity. 
From 1836 to 1838 he printed ten volumes of travels 
in which he criticized the shortcomings of England 
and America. His popularity suffered especially from 
trouble with his neighbors over part of the Cooper 
estate. When trees on “Three Mile Point,” which 
the villagers had used for years as a picnic ground 
and thought they owned, were damaged by vandals, 
Cooper printed a warning. The ground was really 
Cooper’s property, but the dispute was taken up by 
newspapers, and Cooper was given harsh treatment. 
Two novels printed in 1838, Homeward Bound and 
Home as Found , intensified feeling against him, and 
he was generally regarded as an intolerant and ir¬ 
rational slanderer of his countrymen. In 1839 he 
published a History of the United States Navy . In 
this period began his suits for libel against the Albany 
Journal, the New York Tribune, and other newspa¬ 
pers. He pleaded his own case and won almost all 
his seven suits, maintaining that personalities are no 
part of legitimate criticism. In 1840 and 1841, in 


The Last of the Mohicans 


vii 


the midst of these experiences, he produced The Path¬ 
finder, bringing back the popular frontiersman of his 
earlier books, and The Deerslayer, telling of his youth, 
thus completing the series of five Leather-Stocking 
Tales. In his later books the didactic element grows 
stronger and his creative imagination and force as 
a story-teller diminish. Cooper’s last works have 
little interest or importance. 

Cooper continued to live at Cooperstown till the 
end of his life. He never became reconciled with his 
public, and asked that no biography o.f him be writ¬ 
ten, although, after the Three-Mile-Point controversy 
was over, he lived pleasantly with his neighbors. He 
died in 1851, aged sixty-two years. He is described 
as tall, strong, stalwart and athletic in appearance, 
honorable, and having a strong sense of justice. His 
positions in his controversies were valid, on the whole, 
and his criticisms of his contemporaries probably just 
enough. His faults were those of a strong, sincere 
character who lacked in tact and did not care to bid 
for personal popularity. 


THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS 


Nineteen years elapsed between 
The Leather- the composition of the first of the 
Stocking Tales Leather-Stocking Tales and the 
last. During these years Cooper 
developed his conception of the character of his hero, 
the frontiersman, and he improved in skill as a 
novelist. His late attempt to achieve unity in the 
series was perhaps as successful as that of Tenny¬ 
son, who began the Idylls of the King without thought 
of ultimately bringing his separate narratives into 
a sequence. Cooper’s series is sometimes described 
as “the epic of the settlement of a continent.” Yet 
it merely begins the epic story for the reader. Its 
geography extends from the Lake region of New York 
westward beyond the Upper Mississippi. The settle¬ 
ment of the Far West and the Pacific Northwest and 
the Southwest had to remain unchronicled. 

The order in which the stories belong as depicting 
the life of Leather-Stocking is about the alphabetical 
order: The Deerslayer (1841), The Last of the Mo¬ 
hicans (1826), The Pathfinder (1840), The Pioneers 
(1823), The Prairie (1827). An excellent way to 
read them, however, is in the order of their composi¬ 
tion. The Pioneers is a story based on the Coopers- 
town region of the author’s boyhood. It affords a 
sort of social history of a pioneer community. It deals 
with actual places and narrates exciting happenings. 
Judge Temple of the book probably reflects Cooper’s 
father. Natty Bumppo is introduced as in middle 
life, crude and lanky, and rather sullen and grum¬ 
bling. His traits are less attractive than in later 
books. Chingachgook is associated with him but is 
not idealized. He is known as “Indian John,” and 
viii 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ix 


he sometimes plays a creditable part and sometimes 
lapses into drunkenness. 

In The Last of the Mohicqns Natty is called 
the “scout,” because of his services to the colonial 
armies, or Hawkeye by the Delawares, and La Longue 
Carabine by the Iroquois. He is represented as mid¬ 
dle-aged and competent, and remarkably skilful with 
the rifle. Cooper has elaborated his character and 
made him more admirable than in The Pioneers. 
Chingachgook, too, plays a nobler role, and Uncas 
is a glamorous and romantic figure. The Last of 
the Mohicans succeeded from the first. It was wel¬ 
comed all over Europe as well as in America. 

The events in The Prairie, which tells of Leather- 
Stocking’s old age and death, took place after the 
Louisiana Purchase of 1803. Cooper wrote this tale 
when in Europe. He never saw the American prai¬ 
ries he describes. Natty has been driven farther and 
farther westward by the encroachments of civiliza¬ 
tion. He is now over 80 and a trapper, living amid 
the friendly Pawnees of the Upper Mississippi region. 
The hostile Sioux replace the Hurons of The Last 
of the Mohicans. The young Duncan Uncas Middle- 
ton who is with him at his death is the grandson 
of Heyward and Alice of the earlier book. 

The Pathfinder deals with fictitious events taking 
place in 1760, when the French and Indian wars are 
just ended. Natty, now known as the Pathfinder, is 
middle-aged, active, and resourceful in assisting those 
in danger, as he was in The Pioneers. The story 
centers about Fort Oswego near Lake Ontario. 
Chingachgook is again a leading character. The 
main emphasis as regards Leather-Stocking is on 
his fundamental loneliness and his desertion of es¬ 
tablished society. 

The Deerslayer, the last of the Tales in point of 


X 


The Last of the Mohicans 


composition, was written to supply an account of 
Leather-Stocking’s youth. The young Natty is an 
idealized figure, talkative, honest, chivalrous to wo¬ 
men, and a loyal friend. He is painted at full length, 
and he dominates the book. The rougher and less in¬ 
telligent Hurry Harry serves as his foil. The young 
Chingachgook is attractively drawn, and the two 
women characters, the vivid Judith and her simple- 
minded sister Hetty, are not, like most of Cooper’s 
women, in chronic need of rescue. The Deerslayer 
has for its background the Otsego Lake region. 
Present-day tourists may encircle the lake by steamer, 
visiting and identifying the places that Cooper de¬ 
scribes. 

The reader of the five Tales notes a steady increase 
in idealization from the grumbling Natty of The 
Pioneers of 1832 to the young hero of The Deerslayer 
of 1841. Of the tales of the series The Last of the 
Mohicans and The Deerslayer are deservedly the most 
popular. These books deal fascinatingly with adven¬ 
ture, exciting incident, suspense, and with woodcraft. 
They depict frontier conditions and backgrounds, and 
chronicle the pioneer contact of the red race with the 
white. The former book, that earlier in composition, 
perhaps best sustains the interest from chapter to 
chapter. 

Those who wish to go beyond the Leather-Stocking 
Tales in their reading of Cooper should try next The 
Spy, one of the leading successes of American litera¬ 
ture, and a sea story, preferably The Pilot. 

Cooper gives The Last of the Mohicans, 
The Times his tale of Colonial or Pre-Revolution¬ 
ary times, the subtitle “A Narrative of 
1757.” He selects for his story the third and pivotal 
year of the French and Indian War, 1754-63. This 
was the last of the colonial wars between the French 


The Last of the Mohicans 


xi 


and the English for the possession of North America. 
When it opened, the French were masters of Quebec, 
Detroit, the Ohio river, and of New Orleans in the 
South. The English were in possession of the At¬ 
lantic coast from the Kennebec river to Florida. The 
place of The Last of the Mohicans in the chronology 
of the Leather-Stocking Tales becomes clear when it 
is remembered that The Deerslayer, the story of 
Leather-Stocking’s youth, is localized about Otsego 
Lake in the years 1740-45, while The Prairie, telling 
of his old age and death, is localized in the Upper Mis¬ 
sissippi river region in the early days of the nineteenth 
century. 

The French and Indian war, in which the French 
enlisted some of the Indian tribes as allies, had for 
its scenes the region west of the Allegheny mountains, 
the New York and Pennsylvania frontiers, and Cana¬ 
da. Leading events before 1757 were the mission of 
Washington to the French forts and the surrender of 
Fort Necessity to the French in 1754, followed by the 
defeat of General Braddock’s expedition, the expul¬ 
sion of the Acadian settlers in Nova Scotia (pic¬ 
tured in Longfellow’s Evangeline ), and the battle of 
Lake George in 1755, and by the capture of Oswego 
by Montcalm and the ensuing massacre in 1756. Coop¬ 
er describes the capture of Fort William Henry and 
the massacre there in 1757. From 1755 to 1757 the 
successes were mainly French. The leading events 
to follow were an attack by the English on Fort Ticon- 
deroga, and a sequence of English successes, namely 
the capture of Ticonderoga and Niagara from the 
French in 1759, the battle of Quebec in the same year, 
and the surrender of Montreal in 1760. Canada 
passed to British control, and the era of the French 
and British conflict for North America ended with 
the Peace of Paris in 1763. 


xii 


The Last of the Mohicans 


The localities and scenes described con- 
Setting tribute to the power of the book over its 
readers no less than do the story and its 
characters. The background has a reality that is 
lacking in many popular works of fiction like Robin¬ 
son Crusoe and Treasure Island. Geographically the 
narrative takes the reader from the head-waters of 
the Hudson in the North, the Adirondack country, 
Scaroon (now Schroon) Lake, Lake Champlain, Lake 
George, Glen’s Falls, Fort Edward, Ballston Springs, 
Fort William Henry, Fort Duquesne, Ticonderoga 
and Mount Defiance, to Albany on the South. Coop¬ 
er’s strict fidelity to the regions he paints is exhibited 
in many picturesque scenes and poetical descriptions. 
Many think his backgrounds better drawn than his 
characters. It is a very real wilderness that he sug¬ 
gests. The reader of the Leather-Stocking Tales is 
made conscious of the venerable majesty of the forest 
and the shadowy life within it. He sees pioneer clear¬ 
ings, fringes of settlements, wood-encompassed lakes 
whose crystal surfaces reflect trees and skies, rocks, 
sandspits, streams, waterfalls, thickets, fallen tree- 
trunks, places of ambush. He hears bird and animal 
calls, the sounds of firearms, and the yells of savages. 
Pervading all is a sense of lurking danger. The read¬ 
er is kept in suspense as well as the characters. Were 
the background of the Tales as neutral and colorless 
as that in many stories of adventure, a chief factor 
in their success would be lacking. 

Cooper’s Natty Bumppo, he of the 
Characters sobriquets Leather-Stocking, Hawk- 

eye, La Longue Carabine, the Path¬ 
finder, is as celebrated in the Old World as in the 
New. He has taken his place alongside the classic 
figures of the world’s romance, like Don Quixote, Rob¬ 
inson Crusoe, Lemuel Gulliver. Among the creations 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Xlll 


of American fiction, he is even better known, per¬ 
haps, than Irving’s Rip Van Winkle or Mrs. Stowe’s 
Uncle Tom. It has often been pointed out that while 
Cooper’s predecessor, Sir Walter Scott, has written 
many important novels and created many well-known 
characters, he has painted no single character so fa¬ 
mous as Cooper’s frontiersman. 

In The Last of the Mohicans Natty dominates the 
story. He exhibits faithful friendship for Chingach- 
gook and he loves Uncas almost as his own son. He 
chivalrously offers to return to the Huron country to 
die with Uncas. He is willing to give his life in ex¬ 
change for Cora’s. Cooper paints him as a simple 
hunter, talkative, but skilful and honorable. In most 
of the five tales he loves to moralize somewhat tritely. 
In his philosophy he combines something of the fatal¬ 
ist with something of the optimist. In general he 
hates human meanness and injustice, and is loyal to 
the unspoiled life of nature. The advance of the set¬ 
tlements drives him farther westward, with the reced¬ 
ing frontier. 

Cooper’s conception of the backwoodsman, as devel¬ 
oped in the Leather-Stocking series as a whole, owes 
much to many sources. It is a sort of fusion or amal¬ 
gam of various elements or ideals. A few external 
suggestions, though nothing else, came from a hunter 
named Shipman, a pioneer character with rifle and 
dog and leathern stockings, who brought game to his 
father’s hall in Cooperstown. Something too was 
owed to the famous eighteenth-century frontier hero, 
Colonel Daniel Boone (1735-1820), a frontiersman, 
hunter, and trapper, who was at one time adopted 
into the Shawnee tribe. He was skilled in woodcraft 
and Indian warfare, resourceful and fearless. Per¬ 
haps Natty’s love of the wilderness, his shunning of 
the encroachments of civilization, and his dignity of 


XIV 


The Last of the Mohicans 


character derive in part from his historic prototype, 
the Patriarch of Kentucky. Like Boone, Leather- 
Stocking becomes an epic figure of heroic proportions. 
He embodies the adventurous pioneer spirit, eager to 
push into new regions. Entering also into Leather- 
Stocking’s character is the conception, much in the 
mind of the later eighteenth and earlier nineteenth 
century, of the unspoiled “son of nature,” who loves 
simplicity and freedom and who is spiritualized and 
ennobled by his manner of life and his remoteness 
from civilization. His days of solitude in the forest 
develop a religious spirit and an uprightness not to 
be found in sophisticated society. Many readers will 
remember praise of the simple unspoiled human be¬ 
ing, and profession of belief in the superiority of the 
“natural” life as dominant notes in the poetry of 
Wordsworth, Bryant, and Emerson. 

Other characters in The Last of the Mohicans are 
the conventional hero and heroine demanded by the 
plot, Heyward and Alice. Usually with Cooper, as 
with Scott, such characters are treated rather per¬ 
functorily. The author takes little interest in them. 
Heyward, like other Cooper heroes, is brave and hon¬ 
orable but rather stupid. Jasper Western, the hero of 
The Pathfinder, is exceptional, for he is not stupid but 
unusually intelligent. Alice, too, is without much per¬ 
sonality, or rather she is endowed with the conven¬ 
tional personality of a heroine who is in the story 
mainly to be rescued. The most vividly drawn wo¬ 
man character in the Leather-Stocking Tales is Judith 
in The Deerslayer. The courageous and generous- 
souled Cora, who is not the conventional heroine but 
stands out more clearly than the heroine, is drawn 
distinctively enough to belong, with Judith, among 
Cooper’s most memorable women characters. The 
treacherous Magua has the role of the evil gen- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


xv 


ius of the story. The weakest character in the book is 
Colonel Munro, the character from history. The Scotch 
Commander- in-Chief, veteran of many campaigns, has 
little or no control over his emotions and speaks in¬ 
variably the stilted language of melodrama. David 
Gamut, whose externals suggest Irving’s Ichabod 
Crane, serves as a foil to the scout and Heyward, and 
he contributes the humorous element. David wins 
respect, however, through his conduct in times of 
danger. Cooper’s comic characters—others are Cap¬ 
tain Cap in The Pathfinder and Dr. Obed Bat in The 
Prairie —are usually pedants or bores, and the hu¬ 
mor afforded by them is often of a monotonous or 
dreary type. David is perhaps the best of these char¬ 
acters. 

Beyond question, the world’s idea of the 
Indians American Indian of the pioneer age is de¬ 
rived mainly from Cooper’s Leather-Stock¬ 
ing Tales. The picture of Indian life and character 
presented by Cooper has firmly established itself in 
the consciousness not only of America but of Europe. 
If Irving and Longfellow painted European life and 
scenes for America, Cooper vivified pioneer American 
life and scenes for Europe. 

Cooper had no knowledge of the Indians at first 
hand. In his time most of the Indians of his region 
were on reservations. There were no genuine Indians 
about Cooperstown in his boyhood, only half-breeds. 
He read of them or heard his father and others speak 
of them, and he tried hard, when he had become a 
writer of romance, to obtain accurate information 
concerning them. His daughter says that his table 
was rarely without Indian literature upon it. He 
read William Penn’s description of the aborigines of 
Pennsylvania, Cadwallader Colden’s History of the 
Five Indian Nations Depending upon New York 


xvi 


The Last of the Mohicans 


(1727, 1749), the Travels of Jonathan Carver (177b; 
and other authorities, and he was influenced by Rev. 
Gottlieb Ernestus Heckewelder (1743-1825), a Mora¬ 
vian missionary among the Delaware Indians of the 
Pennsylvania and Ohio region, who learned the Dela¬ 
ware language and wrote concerning the Delawares. 
His chief work, An Account of the History , Manners , 
and Customs of the Indian Nations Who Once Inhab¬ 
ited Pennsylvania and the Neighboring States (1819), 
treats topics like Indian customs, warfare, costume, 
character, relation to the whites, etc. Heckewelder 
and Carver mention their acute senses, their belief in 
omens, their tortoise and beaver worship, mummery 
and stoicism, insistence on revenge, war dances, love 
of baubles, respect for the feeble-minded and aged, 
and their attitude toward female captives. Especial¬ 
ly, Cooper inherits from Heckewelder the tendency to 
eulogize the Delawares and to disparage the Iroquois. 

The tribes mentioned in The Last of the Mohicans 
are those enumerated by Heckewelder, though Coop¬ 
er probably owes little of his general tribal knowledge 
to any one source. They are the Mohicans (Mohe- 
gans, Lenni-Lenape, Delawares), the Mengwe (Iro¬ 
quois, Maquas, Mingoes), Huron, Wyandot, Tuscarora, 
Onondaga, Mohawk, Oneida, Seneca, and Chippewa 
tribes. The Mohicans lived along the upper Hudson 
river region. The Hurons, allied with the French, 
are pictured as their deadly foes. 

The Last of the Mohicans is that, among the five 
books of the series, especially devoted to the Indians. 
Cooper portrays their customs, code of honor, skill in 
woodcraft and in oratory, their sense of punctilio and 
their strategy, and their virtues of dignity, self-con¬ 
trol, patience, tribal loyalty, and fortitude. He por¬ 
trays no less clearly their savage traits: treachery, 
ferocity, cruelty, love of revenge. On the whole their 


The Last of the Mohicans 


xvii 


basal traits are probably accurately set forth by him. 
There have been “good” Indians, like the historical 
Massasoit and Osceola, as well as wholly barbarous 
Indians. Cooper does the Indians justice, for if he 
paints them attractively when telling of the half- 
civilized associates and friends of the white men, he 
also paints them as bloodthirsty savages, exhibiting 
utter ferocity in the massacre scene. 

Uncas is a frankly idealized romantic figure. He 
is no more idealized by the author, however, than is 
the usual hero of romance. Cooper invests him with 
the glamorous appeal of gifted youth cut off in its 
flower. He is generous, courteous, skilful. The cause 
of his death is his chivalrous attempt to rescue the 
white girl with the tinge of dark blood in her veins. 
Uncas is the last of a proud race, and with him dies 
the hope of the Delaware tribe. Chingachgook, his 
father, is less idealized, though made impressive and 
convincing. Both Chingachgook and Uncas know the 
woods so completely that even Hawkeye defers to 
them. But at no point in the narrative is the sym¬ 
pathy of the reader bestowed unqualifiedly on the In¬ 
dians, not even upon Uncas. Cooper keeps his read¬ 
ers conscious of race barriers and race conflicts. He 
deals with this difficult subject with a skilful hand. 

The language that Cooper 
Leather- Stocking's places in the mouth of the 
Dialect frontiersman is not very con¬ 

sistent. Sometimes he is elo¬ 
quently literary and sometimes he is illiterate, often 
in the same or nearly the same passage. An example 
of his eloquence is his description of the falls in the 
sixth chapter. He often says things that could come 
only from the author himself. In The Last of the 
Mohicans he speaks less inconsistently, however, and 
his dialect is laid on less thickly, than in the Deer •- 


xviii 


The Last of the Mohicans 


slayer and other of the Tales. The Prairie is that 
freest from dialect. The frontiersman is made to 
speak the best English of his career in his old age. 
Probably this was not because Cooper meant his 
hero’s language to improve with his years but be¬ 
cause he composed The Prairie when he was in 
Europe, where he felt less interest in the American 
vernacular. 

On the whole the dialect placed in Bumppo’s mouth 
is that in pretty general use in Cooper’s day as 
marking illiterate speech. It is not especially New 
York or New England dialect, although that which 
James Russell Lowell later employed in the Biglow 
Papers is much like it. Many of its divergences 
from the standard are archaisms or survivals of pro¬ 
nunciations standard in eighteenth-century England. 
Examples are sarvice, sarpent, varmint, divart, var- 
tue, desart, all of which were once in accepted usage. 
The occurrence of which for who when referring to 
persons is also an archaism. Other favorite dialect 
forms for Leather-Stocking are atween, afore, atwixt, 
agin, we’pon, onlimited, oncommon. Some of the non¬ 
standard expressions in his vocabulary are: hereaways, 
thereaways, handkercher, Patteroon, commerades, non- 
composser, at othersome, judgmatical, musikate, 
younker. Agent nouns like Butcher, Frencher, musi- 
cianer, were common in Cooper’s day. The pleonastic 
human men, my-hog-guinea for mahogany, and saxa- 
frax for sassafras are perhaps Natty’s private pecu¬ 
liarities. Some of his lapses, like the use of them as a 
demonstrative (“them moccasins”) or of pair in the 
plural (“three pair of moccasins”), or the non-con- 
cord of subject and verb (in The Pioneers and Deer- 
slayer especially), or his use of the analogical past 
tenses of verbs, like knowed, bursted, come for came, 
are still in wide-spread currency. There is usually 


The Last op the Mohicans 


xix 


little or no dialect in the passages in which he ad¬ 
dresses the Indians. 

Cooper’s loosely constructed plots, it is 
Structure often pointed out, usually have for their 
and Style groundwork a flight and pursuit, or 

more than one of these. When he is 
at his best there is direct and single-strand plot 
movement, the action is rapid and intense, and the 
narrative vigorous and spontaneous. His resources 
in the weaving of incidents into his plots are inex¬ 
haustible. Motives are not always clear nor loose 
threads gathered up. But he commands a wealth of 
thrilling incident and—considering how much he 
wrote—he exhibits remarkable variety. His narra¬ 
tives are characterized by force and intensity, if not 
by finish. 

His expression is open to criticism, like his man¬ 
agement of his plots. Style was a secondary matter 
with Cooper. His work shows little care or precision. 
He may write a badly constructed sentence and let 
it stand. He may use a wrong word and let it stand. 
He saw or imagined and wrote, in headlong fashion. 
He did not go back over his compositions for critical 
revision. On the other hand, his expression conveys 
what he wished of it, and care for greater finish 
might have impaired the vigor of his composition. 
Cooper would have been a better writer, however, 
had he showed more careful plot structure, stronger 
characterization, more sustained expression, and had 
he corrected his slips or inconsistencies. The great¬ 
est authors show a better balance of qualities than 
is to be found in the volumes of the Leather-Stocking 
Tales. 


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 


Brownell, W. C., “Cooper” in American Prose 
Masters. 1909. 

Clymer, W. B. S m James Fenimore Cooper. 1900. 

Cooper, James Fenimore (grandson of the novelist), 
Correspondence of James Fenimore Cooper. 2 
vols. 1922. 

Corbett, Julian S., England in the Seven Years War. 
2 vols. 1907. 

Erskine, John, “James Fenimore Cooper” in Lead¬ 
ing American Novelists. 1910. 

Lounsbury, T. S., James Fenimore Cooper. 1883. 

Parrington, V. G., The Romantic Revolution in 
America , II. 1927. 

Park man, Francis, Montcalm and Wolfe. 1884. 

-, Review of Cooper’s works, North 

American Review, January, 1852. 

Phelps, William Lyon, “Cooper” in Some Makers 
of American Literature. 1922. 

Phillips, Mary E., James Fenimore Cooper. 1913. 

Van Doren, Carl, “Cooper” in The Cambridge His¬ 
tory of American Literature. I, vi. 1917. 

--“James Fenimore Cooper” in The 

American Novel. 1921. 

Wood, William, The Passing of New France, Chron¬ 
icles of Canada series. X. 1915. 

Wood, William Charles Henry, The Fight for 
Canada. 1904 and 1906. 


xx 






COOPER’S INTRODUCTION 


It is believed that the scene of this tale, and most 
of the information necessary to understand its allu¬ 
sions, are rendered sufficiently obvious to the reader 
in the text itself, or in the accompanying notes. Still 
there is so much obscurity in the Indian traditions, 
and so much confusion in the Indian names, as to 
render some explanation useful . 1 

Few men exhibit greater diversity, or, if we may 
so express it, greater antithesis of character, than the 
native warrior of North America. In war, he is dar¬ 
ing, boastful, cunning, ruthless, self-denying, and 
self-devoted; in peace, just, generous, hospitable, re¬ 
vengeful, superstitious, modest, and commonly chaste. 
These are qualities, it is true, which do not distinguish 
all alike; but they are so far predominating traits of 
these remarkable people as to be characteristic. 

It is generally believed the Aborigines of the 
American continent have an Asiatic origin . 2 There 
are many physical as well as moral facts which cor¬ 
roborate this opinion, and some few would seem to 
weigh against it. 

’Cooper’s Preface in the first edition of The Last of the 
Mohicans is usually omitted in school editions,. It con¬ 
tains nothing essential, is aggressive in tone, and the in¬ 
formation conveyed in it is better covered in his Introduc¬ 
tion, which was added twenty-five years later, to answer 
questions asked of the author by his readers. 

2 A belief in the Asiatic origin of the American In¬ 
dians was current in Cooper's day. Peter S. Duponceau 
of the American Philosophical Society wrote to He6ke- 
welder, the historian of the Delawares: “The most general¬ 
ly established opinion seems to be that the Americans are 
descended from the Tartars who inhabit the northeastern- 
most parts of Asia.” (Indian Nations II, Letter XXIII. 
417. 1819). This theory of Indian origins does not now 
have the same acceptance. 

xxi 



xxii 


The Last of the Mohicans 


The color of the Indian, the writer believes, is pe¬ 
culiar to himself; and while his cheek-bones have a 
very striking indication of a Tartar origin, his eyes 
have not. Climate may have had a great influence 
on the former, but it is difficult to see how it can 
have produced the substantial difference which exists 
in the latter. The imagery of the Indian, both in 
his poetry and his oratory, is Oriental, chastened, and 
perhaps improved by the limited range of his prac¬ 
tical knowledge. He draws his metaphors from the 
clouds, the seasons, the birds, the beasts, and the vege¬ 
table world. In this, perhaps, he does no more than 
any other energetic and imaginative race would do, 
being compelled to set bounds to fancy by experience; 
but the North American Indian clothes his ideas in 
dress which is different from that of the African, and 
is Oriental in itself. His language has the richness 
and sententious fulness of the Chinese. He will ex¬ 
press a phrase in a word, and he will qualify the 
meaning of an entire sentence by a syllable; he will 
even convey different significations by the simplest in¬ 
flections of the voice. 

Philologists have said that there are but two or 
three languages, properly speaking, among all the 
numerous tribes which formerly occupied the country 
that now composes the United States. They ascribe 
the known difficulty one people have in understanding 
another to corruptions and dialects. The writer re¬ 
members an interview between two chiefs of the 
Great Prairies west of the Mississippi when an in¬ 
terpreter was in attendance who spoke both their 
languages. The warriors appeared to be on the most 
friendly terms and seemingly conversed much to¬ 
gether ; yet, according to the account of the interpret¬ 
er, each was absolutely ignorant of what the other 
said. They were of hostile tribes, brought together 


The Last of the Mohicans 


xxiii 


by the influence of the American government; and it 
is worthy of remark that a common policy led them 
both to adopt the same subject. They mutually ex¬ 
horted each other to be of use in the event of the 
chances of war throwing either of the parties into 
the hands of his enemies. Whatever may be the 
truth as respects the root and the genius of the Indian 
tongues, it is quite certain they are now so distinct 
in their words as to possess most of the disadvan¬ 
tages of strange languages; hence much of the em¬ 
barrassment that has arisen in learning their his¬ 
tories, and most of the uncertainty which exists in 
their traditions. 

Like nations of higher pretensions, the American 
Indian gives a very different account of his own tribe 
or race from that which is given by other people. 
He is much addicted to overestimating his own per¬ 
fections, and to undervaluing those of his rival or 
his enemy; a trait which may possibly be thought 
corroborative of the Mosaic account of the creation.® 

The whites have assisted greatly in rendering the 
traditions of the Aborigines more obscure by their 
own manner of corrupting names. Thus, the term 
used in the title of this book has undergone the chang¬ 
es of Mahicanni, Mohicans, and Mohegans; the latter 
being the word commonly used by the Whites. When 
it is remembered that the Dutch (who first settled 
New York), the English, and the French, all gave 
appellations to the tribes that dwelt within the coun¬ 
try which is the scene of this story, and that the 
Indians not only gave different names to their ene¬ 
mies, but frequently to themselves, the cause of the 
confusion will be understood. 

In these pages, Lenni-Lenape, Lenope, Delawares, 

3 The reference may be to “The Lord God formed man of 
the dust of the ground,” as indicative of man’s imperfect 
nature. See Genesis, 2, 7. 



xxiv 


The Last of thf Mohicans 


Wapanachki, and Mohicans, all mean the same peo¬ 
ple, or tribes of the same stock. The Mengwe, the 
Maquas, the Mingoes, and the Iroquois, though not 
all strictly the same, are identified frequently by the 
speakers, being politically confederated and opposed 
to those just named. Mingo was a term of peculiar 
reproach, as was Mengwe and Maqua in a less de¬ 
gree. 

The Mohicans were the possessors of the country 
first occupied by the Europeans in this portion of 
the continent. They were, consequently, the first dis¬ 
possessed; and the seemingly inevitable fate of all 
these people, who disappear before the advances, or 
it might be termed the inroads, of civilization, as the 
verdure of their native forests falls before the nip¬ 
ping frost, is represented as having already befallen 
them. There is sufficient historical truth in the pic¬ 
ture to justify the use that has been made of it. 

In point of fact, the country which is the scene of 
the following tales has undergone as little change, 
since the historical events alluded to had place, as al¬ 
most any other district of equal extent within the 
whole limits of the United States. There are fash¬ 
ionable and well-attended watering places 4 at and 
near the spring where Hawkeye halted to drink, and 
roads traverse the forests where he and his friends 
were compelled to journey without even a path. 
Glenn’s has a large village; and while William Henry, 
and even a fortress of later date, are only to be traced 
as ruins, there is another village 5 on the shores of 
the Horican. But, beyond this, the enterprise and 
energy of the people who have done so much in other 
places have done little here. The whole of that wil- 

4 Saratoga and Ballston. Glenn’s Falls is now spelled 
Glen’s. See Chapter V, note 4. 

5 The village of Caldwell. 



The Last of the Mohicans xxv 

derness in which the latter incidents of the legend oc¬ 
curred is nearly a wilderness still, though the red 
man has entirely deserted this part of the state. Of 
all the tribes named in these pages, there exist only 
a few half-civilized beings of the Oneidas on the res¬ 
ervations of their people in New York. The rest 
have disappeared, either from the regions in which 
their fathers dwelt, or altogether from the earth. 

There is one point on which we would wish to say a 
word before closing this preface. Hawkeye calls the 
Lac du Saint Sacrement , the “Horican.” As we be¬ 
lieve this to be an appropriation of the name that has 
its origin with ourselves, the time has arrived, per¬ 
haps, when the fact should be frankly admitted. 
While writing this book, fully a quarter of a century 
since, it occurred to us that the French’ name of this 
lake was too complicated, the American too common¬ 
place, and the Indian too unpronounceable, for either 
to be used familiarly in a work of fiction. Looking 
over an ancient map, it was ascertained that a tribe 
of Indians, called “Les Horicans” by the French, ex¬ 
isted in the neighborhood of this beautiful sheet of 
water. As every word uttered by Natty Bumppo was 
not to be received as rigid truth, we took the liberty 
of putting the “Horican” into his mouth, as the 
substitute for “Lake George .” 6 The name has ap¬ 
peared to find favor, and all things considered, it 
may be quite as well to let it stand, instead of going 
back to the house of Hanover for the appellation of 
our finest sheet of water. We relieve our conscience 
by the confession, at all events, leaving it to exercise 
its authority as it may see fit. 

“Cooper’s proposed new name for Lake George has no 
very sound historical justification. The existence of the 
Horican Indians is not well established nor the region 
they occupied. Lake George was named by General Wil¬ 
liam Johnson (1715-1774) for King George II. 










































































































































' 






* 
















The Last of the Mohicans 

Chapter I 

“Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared: The worst 
is worldly loss thou canst unfold: — Say, is my kingdom 
lost?” 

— Shakespeare, Richard //, III, ii. 1 

It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of 
North America, that the toils and dangers of the 
wilderness were to be encountered before the adverse 
hosts could meet . 2 A wide and apparently an im¬ 
pervious boundary of forests severed the possessions 
of the hostile provinces of France and England. The 
hardy colonist, and the trained European who fought 
at his side, frequently expended months in struggling 
against the rapids of the streams, or in effecting the 
rugged passes 3 of the mountains, in quest of an op¬ 
portunity to exhibit their courage in a more martial 
conflict. But, emulating the patience and self-denial 
of the practised native warriors, they learned to 
overcome every difficulty; and it would seem that, 
in time, there was no recess of the woods so dark, 
nor any secret place so lonely, that it might claim 
exemption from the inroads of those who had pledged 
their blood to satiate their vengeance, or to uphold 
the cold and selfish policy of the distant monarchs 
of Europe. 

Perhaps no district throughout the wide extent of 
the intermediate frontiers can furnish a livelier pie 

Like Sir Walter Scott, Cooper introduces bits of verse 
or dialogue from plays as chapter headings. All are from 
well-known authors though not all seem appropriate. This 
practice has now passed from vogue. 

Tn the first edition “in murderous contact” followed 

s Not a very good usage of the verb “effect.” 



2 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ture of the cruelty and fierceness of the savage war¬ 
fare of those periods than the country which lies be¬ 
tween the head-waters of the Hudson and the adjacent 
lakes. 

The facilities which nature had there offered to 
the march of the combatants were too obvious to be 
neglected. The lengthened sheet of the Champlain 
stretched from the frontiers of Canada, deep within 
the borders of the neighboring province of New York, 
forming a natural passage across half the distance 
that the French were compelled to master in order to 
strike their enemies. Near its southern termination, 
it received the contributions of another lake, whose 
waters were so limpid as to have been exclusively 
selected by the Jesuit missionaries to perform the 
typical purification of baptism, and to obtain for it 
the title of lake “du Saint Sacrement .” 4 The less 
zealous English thought they conferred a sufficient 
honor on its unsullied fountains, when they bestowed 
the name of their reigning prince, the second of the 
house of Hanover. The two united to rob the un¬ 
tutored possessors of its wooded scenery of their 
native right to perpetuate its original appellation 
of “Horican .” 5 

*Of the holy sacrament. 

8 As each nation of the Indians had either its language or 
its dialect, they usually gave different names to the same 
places, though nearly all of their appellations were de¬ 
scriptive of the object. Thus, a literal translation of the 
name of this beautiful sheet of water, used by the tribe 
that dwelt on its banks, would be “The Tail of the Lake.” 
Lake George, as it is vulgarly, and now indeed legally 
called, forms a sort of a tail to Lake Champlain, when 
viewed on the map. Hence the name. [Cooper's Note.] 

The name Horican was given to the lake in 1646 by the 
Jesuit missionary, Father Jogues, for the reason that it 
was on the day of the festival of Corpus Christ! that he 
visited it. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


3 


Winding its way among countless islands, and im¬ 
bedded in mountains, the “holy lake” extended a dozen 
leagues still farther to the south. With the high plain 
that there interposed itself to the further passage of 
the water, commenced a portage of as many miles, 
which conducted the adventurer to the banks of the 
Hudson, at a point where, with the usual obstructions 
of the rapids, or rifts, as they were then termed in 
the language of the country, the river became navig¬ 
able to the tide. 

While, in the pursuit of their daring plans of annoy¬ 
ance, the restless enterprise of the French even at¬ 
tempted the distant and difficult gorges of the 
Allegheny, it may easily be imagined that their pro¬ 
verbial acuteness would not overlook the natural 
advantages of the district we have just described. 
It became, emphatically, the bloody arena, in which 
most of the battles for the mastery of the colonies 
were contested. Forts were erected at the different 
points that commanded the facilities of the route, 
and were taken and retaken, razed and rebuilt, as 
victory alighted on the hostile banners . 6 While the 
husbandman shrank back from the dangerous passes, 
within the safer boundaries of the more ancient 
settlements, armies larger than those that had often 
disposed of the scepters of the mother countries, were 
seen to bury themselves in these forests, whence 
they rarely returned but in skeleton bands, that were 
haggard with care, or dejected by defeat. Though 
the arts of peace were unknown to this fatal region, 
its forests were alive with men; its shades 7 and glens 
rang with the sounds of martial music, and the echoes 
of its mountains threw back the laugh, or repeated 

6 In the first edition “as victory smiled or expediency 
dictated.” 

T In the first edition “glades.” 



4 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the wanton cry, of many a gallant and reckless youth, 
as he hurried by them, in the noontide of his spirits, 
to slumber in a long night of forgetfulness. 

It was in this scene of strife and bloodshed that 
the incidents which we shall attempt to relate oc¬ 
curred, during the third year of the war which Eng¬ 
land and France last waged for the possession of a 
country that neither 8 was destined to retain. 

The imbecility of her military leaders 9 abroad, and 
the fatal want of energy in her councils at home, had 
lowered the character of Great Britain from the proud 
elevation on which it had been placed, by the talents 
and enterprise of her former warriors and statesmen. 
No longer dreaded by her enemies, her servants were 
fast losing the confidence 10 of self-respect. In this 
mortifying abasement, the colonists, though innocent 
of her imbecility, and too humble to be the agents 
of her blunders, were but the natural participators. 
They had recently seen a chosen army from that coun¬ 
try, which, reverencing as a mother, they had blindly 11 
believed invincible—an army led by a chief who had 
been selected from a crowd of trained warriors, for 
his rare military endowments, disgracefully routed 
by a handful of French and Indians, and only saved 
from annihilation by the coolness and spirit of a Vir¬ 
ginia boy, whose riper fame has since diffused itself, 
with the steady influence of moral truth, to the utter¬ 
most confines of Christendom . 12 A wide frontier had 

8 In the first edition “happily neither” etc. 

"The successes of the first years of the war were French. 

Perhaps Cooper had in mind the failure of General Brad- 

dock’s expedition, the resulbless victory over Dieskau, and 
the attempt on Niagara in 1755 and on Louisburg in 1757 

10 In the first edition “salutary confidence.” 

n In the first edition “fondly.” 

^Washington, who after uselessly admonishing the Eu¬ 
ropean general of the danger into which he was needlessly 



The Last of the Mohicans 


5 


been laid naked by this unexpected disaster, and more 
substantial evils were preceded by a thousand fanciful 
and imaginary dangers. The alarmed colonists be¬ 
lieved that the yells of the savages mingled with 
every fitful gust of wind that issued from the in¬ 
terminable forest of the west. The terrific character 
of their merciless enemies increased immeasurably 
the natural horrors of warfare. Numberless recent 
massacres were still vivid in their recollections; nor 
was there any ear in the provinces so deaf as not to 
have drunk in with avidity the narrative of some 
fearful tale of midnight murder, in which the natives 
of the forests were the principal and barbarous actors. 
As the credulous and excited traveler related the 
hazardous chances of the wilderness, the blood of 
the timid curdled with terror, and mothers cast anx¬ 
ious glances even at those children which 13 slumbered 
within the security of the largest towns. In short, 
the magnifying influence of fear began to set at 
naught the calculations of reason, and to render those 

running, saved the remnants of the British army, on this 
occasion, by his decision and courage. The reputation 
earned by Washington in this battle was the principal 
cause of his being selected to command the American 
armies at a later day. It is a circumstance worthy of 
observation, that, while all America rang with his well- 
merited reputation, his name does not occur in any 
European account of the battle; at least, the author has 
searched for it without success. In this manner does 
the mother country absorb even the fame, under that 
system of rule. [Cooper’s Note.] 

13 As late as Shakespeare’s time, or the 1611 version of 
the Scriptures (“Our Father which art in heaven,” etc.) 
and for some time thereafter, which was used as a per¬ 
sonal relative pronoun alongside that. By the nineteenth 
century who had mostly supplanted it in the standard 
language as a relative in personal usage. Cooper’s “chil¬ 
dren which” would not now be permissible. 



6 


The Last of the Mohicans 


who should have remembered their manhood, the 
slaves of the basest of passions. Even the most confi¬ 
dent and the stoutest hearts began to think the issue 
of the contest was becoming doubtful; and that ab¬ 
ject class was hourly increasing in numbers, who 
thought they foresaw all the possessions of the Eng¬ 
lish crown in America subdued by their Christian 
foes, or laid waste by the inroads of their relentless 
allies. 

When, therefore, intelligence was received at the 
fort, which covered the southern termination of the 
portage between the Hudson and the lakes, that Mont¬ 
calm had been seen moving up the Champlain with 
an army “numerous as the leaves on the trees/’ its 
truth was admitted with more of the craven reluctance 
of those who court the arts of peace, than with the 
stern joy that a warrior should feel in finding an 
enemy within reach of his blow. The news had been 
brought towards the decline of a day in midsummer, 
by an Indian runner , 14 that also bore an urgent re¬ 
quest from Munro, who commanded the work on 
the shore of the “holy lake,” for a speedy and powerful 
reinforcement. It has already been mentioned, that 
the distance between these two posts was less than 
five leagues. The rude path, which originally formed 
their line of communication, had been widened for 
the passage of wagons; so that the distance which 
had been travelled by the son of the forest in two 
hours, might easily be effected by a detachment of 
troops, with their necessary baggage, between the 
rising and setting of a summer sun. The loyal ser¬ 
vants of the British crown had given to one of those 
forest fastnesses the name of William Henry, and 
to the other that of Fort Edward; calling each after 

14 Magua, who is to play a conspicuous part in the nar¬ 
rative. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


7 

a favorite prince of the reigning family. The veteran 
Scotchman just named held the first, with a regiment 
of regulars and a few provincials, a force really by 
far too small to make head against the formidable 
power that Montcalm was leading to the foot of his 
earthen mounds. At the latter, however, lay General 
Webb, who commanded the armies of the king in 
the northern provinces, with a body of more than five 
thousand men. By uniting the several detachments 
of his command, this officer might have arrayed 
nearly double that number of combatants against 
the enterprising Frenchman, who had ventured so far 
from his reinforcements, with an army but little 
superior in numbers. 

But under the influence of their degraded fortunes, 
both officers and men appeared better disposed to 
await the approach of their formidable antagonists, 
within their works, than to resist the progress of 
their march, by emulating the successful example of 
the French at Fort Duquesne, and striking a blow 
on their advance. 

After the first surprise of the intelligence had a 
little abated, a rumor was spread through the in¬ 
trenched camp, which stretched along the margin of 
the Hudson, forming a chain of outworks to the body 
of the fort itself, that a chosen detachment of fifteen 
hundred men 15 was to depart, with the dawn, for 
William Henry, the post at the northern extremity 
of the portage. That which at first was only rumor, 
soon became certainty, as orders passed from the 
quarters of the commanderdn-chief to the several 
corps he had selected for this service, to prepare for 

15 There were 200 British regulars and about S00 Mass¬ 
achusetts troops, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Young. 
They are not involved in the story. 



8 


The Last of the Mohicans 


their speedy departure. All doubt as to the intention 
of Webb now vanished,, and an hour or two of hurried 
footsteps and anxious faces succeeded. The novice 
in the military art flew from point to point, retarding 
his own preparations by the excess of his violent 
and somewhat distempered zeal; while the more prac¬ 
tised veteran made his arrangements with a delibera¬ 
tion that scorned every appearance of haste; though 
his sober lineaments and anxious eye sufficiently be¬ 
trayed that he had no very strong professional relish 
for the as yet untried and dreaded warfare of the 
wilderness. At length the sun set in a flood of glory, 
behind the distant western hills, and as darkness drew 
its veil around the secluded spot the sound of prep¬ 
aration diminished; the last light finally disappeared 
from the log cabin of some officer; the trees cast their 
deeper shadows over the mounds and the rippling 
stream: and a silence soon pervaded the camp, as deep 
as that which reigned in the vast forest by which it 
was environed. 

According to the orders of the preceding night, 
the heavy sleep of the army was broken by the rolling 
of the warning drums, whose rattling echoes were 
heard issuing, on the damp morning air, out of every 
vista of the woods, just as day began to draw the 
shaggy outlines of some tall pines of the vicinity, on 
the opening brightness of a soft and cloudless eastern 
sky. In an instant the whole camp was in motion; the 
meanest soldier arousing from his lair to witness 
the departure of his comrade, and to share in the 
excitement and incidents of the hour. The simple 
array of the chosen band was soon completed. While 
the regular and trained hirelings of the king marched 
with haughtiness 16 to the right of the line, the less pre¬ 
tending colonists took their humbler position on its 

16 The first edition had “ready haughtiness.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


9 


left, with a docility that long practice had rendered 
easy. The scouts departed; strong guards preceded 
and followed the lumbering vehicles that bore the 
baggage; and before the gray light of the morning 
was mellowed by the rays of the sun , 17 the main body 
of the combatants wheeled into column, and left the 
encampment with a show of high military bearing, 
that served to drown the slumbering apprehensions 
of many a novice who was now about to make his first 
essay in arms. While in view of their admiring com¬ 
rades, the same proud front and ordered array was 
observed, until, the notes of their fifes growing faint¬ 
er in distance, the forest at length appeared to 
swallow up the living mass which had slowly entered 
its bosom. 

The deepest sounds of the retiring and invisible 
column had ceased to be borne on the breeze to the 
listeners, and the latest straggler had already disap¬ 
peared in pursuit; but there still remained the signs 
of another departure, before a log cabin of unusual 
size and accommodations, in front of which those 
sentinels paced their rounds who were known to 
guard the person of the English general. At this 
spot were gathered some half dozen horses, caparisoned 
in a manner which showed that two, at least, were 
to bear the persons of females,“ of a rank that it 
was not usual to meet so far in the wilds of the coun¬ 
try. A third wore the trappings and arms of an 
officer of the staff; while the rest, from the plainness 
of the housings, and the traveling mails with which 
they were encumbered, were evidently fitted for the 
reception of as many menials, who were, seemingly, 

17 In the first edition “the rising sun.” 

18 Cooper is often criticized for his staple use of “female” 
instead of “woman,” but this usage was widespread in 
his day. It appears in the works of many other novelists. 



10 


The Last of the Mohicans 


already awaiting the pleasure of those they served. 
At a respectful distance from this unusual show were 
gathered divers groups of curious idlers; some admir¬ 
ing the blood and bone of the high-mettled military 
charger, and others gazing at the preparations, with 
the dull wonder of vulgar curiosity. There was one 
man, however, who, by his countenance and actions, 
formed a marked exception to those who composed the 
latter class of spectators, being neither idle, nor seem¬ 
ingly very ignorant. 

The person of this individual was to the last degree 
ungainly, without being in any particular manner de¬ 
formed. He had all the bones and joints of other men, 
without any of their proportions. Erect, his stature 
surpassed that of his fellows; seated, he appeared 
reduced within the ordinary limits of the race. The 
same contrariety in his members seemed to exist 
throughout the whole man. His head was large; his 
shoulders narrow; his arms long and dangling, while 
his hands were small, if not delicate; his legs and 
thighs were thin, nearly to emaciation, but of ex¬ 
traordinary length; and his knees would have been 
considered tremendous, had they not been outdone 
by the broader foundations on which this false super¬ 
structure of blended human orders 19 was so profanely 
reared. The ill-assorted and injudicious attire of the 
individual only served to render his awkwardness 
more conspicuous; a sky-blue coat, with short and 
broad skirts and low cape, exposed a long thin neck, 
and longer and thinner legs, to the worst animad¬ 
versions of the evil disposed. His nether garment 
was of yellow nankeen, closely fitted to the shape, and 
tied at his bunches of knees by large knots of white 
ribbon, a good deal sullied by use. Clouded cotton 
stockings, and shoes, on one of the latter of which was 


19 Not a very clear expression. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


11 


a plated spur, completed the costume of the lower ex¬ 
tremity of this figure, no curve nor angle of which 
was concealed, but on the other hand studiously ex¬ 
hibited, through the vanity or simplicity of its owner. 
From beneath the flap of an enormous pocket of a 
soiled vest of embossed silk, heavily ornamented with 
tarnished silver lace, projected an instrument which, 
from being seen in such martial company, might have 
easily been mistaken for some mischievous and un¬ 
known implement of war. Small as it was, this 
uncommon engine had excited the curiosity of most 
of the Europeans in the camp, though several of the 
provincials were seen to handle it, not only without 
fear, but with the utmost familiarity. A large civil 
cocked hat , 130 like those worn by clergymen within the 
last thirty years, surmounted the whole, furnishing 
dignity to a good natured and somewhat vacant coun¬ 
tenance that apparently needed such artificial aid to 
support the gravity of some high and extraordinary 
trust. 

While the common herd stood aloof, in deference 
to the quarters of Webb, the figure we have described 
stalked into the center of the domestics, freely ex¬ 
pressing his censures or commendations on the merits 
of the horses, as by chance they displeased or satisfied 
his judgment. 

“This beast, I rather conclude , 21 friend, is not of 
home raising, but is from foreign lands, or perhaps 
from the little island itself over the blue water?” 
he said, in a voice as remarkable for the softness and 
sweetness of its tones, as was his person for its rare 

"To be distinguished from military or clerical hats. 
In chapter VI David Gamut, whose costume is described 
in this passage, tells of his profession and explains his 
coming to Fort William Henry. Note the details of a 
colonial costume, however exaggerated the description. 

^Gamufc uses ‘‘conclude” for the better “infer,” 



12 


The Last of the Mohicans 


proportions: “I may speak of these things, and be no 
braggart; for I have been down at both havens; that 
which is situated at the mouth of Thames, and is 
named after the capital of Old England, and that 
which is called ‘Haven/ with the addition of the word 
‘New’; and have seen the snows and brigantines col¬ 
lecting their droves, like the gathering to the ark, 
being outward bound to the Island of Jamaica, for 
the purpose of barter and traffic in four-footed ani¬ 
mals; but never before have I beheld a beast which 
verified the true Scripture war-horse like this: ‘He 
paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: 
he goeth on to meet the armed men. He saith among 
the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar 
off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.’ 
It would seem that the stock of the horse of Israel 
has descended to our own time, would it not, friend?” 

Receiving no reply to this extraordinary appeal, 
which in truth, as it was delivered with the vigor of 
full and sonorous tones, merited some sort of notice, 
he who had thus sung forth the language of the Holy 
Book turned to the silent figure to whom he had un¬ 
wittingly addressed himself, and found a new and 
more powerful subject of admiration in the object 
that encountered his gaze. His eyes fell on the still, 
upright, and rigid form of the Indian runner, who 
had borne to the camp the unwelcome tidings 
of the preceding evening. Although in a state of 
perfect repose, and apparently disregarding, with 
characteristic stoicism, the excitement and bustle 
around him, there was a sullen fierceness mingled 
with the quiet of the savage, that was likely to ar¬ 
rest the attention of much more experienced eyes 
than those which now scanned him, in unconcealed 
amazement. The native bore both the tomahawk and 
knife of his tribe; and yet his appearance was not 


The Last of the Mohicans 


13 


altogether that of a warrior. On the contrary, there 
was an air of neglect about his person, like that 
which might have proceeded from great and recent 
exertion, which he had not yet found leisure to re¬ 
pair. The colors of the war-paint had blended in 
dark confusion about his fierce countenance, and ren¬ 
dered his swarthy lineaments still more savage and 
repulsive than if art had attempted an effort which 
had thus been produced by chance. His eye, alone, 
which glistened like a fiery star amid lowering clouds, 
was to be seen in its state of native wildness. For 
a single instant, his searching and yet wary glance 
met the wondering look of the other, and then chang¬ 
ing its direction, partly in cunning, and partly in 
disdain, it remained fixed, as if penetrating the dis¬ 
tant air. 

It is impossible to say what unlooked for remark 
this short, and silent communication, between two 
such singular men, might have elicited from the tall 
white man, had not his active curiosity been again 
drawn to other objects. A general movement amongst 
the domestics and a low sound of gentle voices, an¬ 
nounced the approach of those whose presence was 
wanted, in order to enable the cavalcade to move. 
The simple admirer of the war horse instantly fell 
back to a low, gaunt, switch-tailed mare, that was 
unconsciously gleaning the faded herbage of the camp, 
nigh by, where, leaning with one elbow on the blanket 
that concealed an apology for a saddle, he became a 
spectator of the departure, while a foal was quietly 
making its morning repast on the opposite side of 
the same animal. 

A young man, in the livery of the crown, conducted 
to their steeds two females, who, it was apparent by 
their dresses, were prepared to encounter the fatigues 
of a journey in the woods. One, and she was the 


14 


The Last of the Mohicans 


most juvenile"" in her appearance, though both were 
young, permitted glimpses of her dazzling complexion, 
fair golden hair, and bright blue eyes, to be caught, 
as she artlessly suffered the morning air to blow aside 
the green veil, which descended low from her beaver. 
The flush which still lingered above the pines in the 
western sky was not more bright nor delicate than 
the bloom on her cheek; nor was the opening day 
more cheering than the animated smile which she be¬ 
stowed on the youth, as he assisted her into the 
saddle. The other, who appeared to share equally in 
the attentions of the young officer, concealed her 
charms from the gaze of the soldiery with a studious 
care that seemed better fitted to the experience of 
four or five additional years. It could be seen, how¬ 
ever, that her person, though moulded with the same 
exquisite proportions, of which none of the graces 
were lost by the traveling dress she wore, was rather 
fuller and more mature than that of her companion. 

No sooner were these females seated, than their 
attendant sprang lightly into the saddle of the war- 
horse, when the whole three 23 bowed to Webb, who, 
in courtesy, awaited their parting on the threshold 
of his cabin, and turning their horses’ heads, they 
proceeded at a slow amble, followed by their train, 
towards the northern entrance of the encampment. 
As they traversed that short distance, not a voice 
was heard amongst them; but a slight exclamation 
proceeded from the younger of the females, as the 
Indian runner glided by her, unexpectedly, and led 
the way along the military road in her front. Though 
this sudden and startling movement of the Indian 
produced no sound from the other, in the surprise 
her veil also was allowed to open its folds, and betrayed 

22 Better usage would have “more juvenile’’ of two persons, 

M “A11 three” would have been better. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


15 


an indescribable look of pity, admiration, and horror, 
as her dark eye followed the easy motions of the 
savage. The tresses of this lady were shining and 
black, like the plumage of the raven. Her com¬ 
plexion was not brown, but it rather appeared charged 
with the color of the rich blood ' 4 that seemed ready 
to burst its bounds. And yet there was neither 
coarseness nor want of shadowing in a countenance 
that was exquisitely regular and dignified, and sur¬ 
passingly beautiful. She smiled as if in pity at her 
own momentary forgetfulness, discovering by the act 
a row of teeth that would have shamed the purest 
ivory 25 ; when, replacing the veil, she bowed her face, 
and rode in silence* like one whose thoughts were 
abstracted from the scene around her. 


“Compare the talk of Colonel Munro and Major Hey¬ 
ward in chapter XVI. 

25 The first edition had “shamed by their dazzling white¬ 
ness the purest ivory.” 



CHAPTER II 


“Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola!” 

—Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, V, i. 

While one of the lovely beings we have so cursorily 
presented to the reader was thus lost in thought, the 
other quickly recovered from the slight alarm which 
induced the exclamation and, laughing at her own 
weakness, she inquired playfully of the youth who 
rode by her side— 

“Are such specters frequent in the woods, Heyward; 
or is this sight an especial entertainment ordered 
in our behalf? If the latter, gratitude must close 
our mouths; but if the former, both Cora and I shall 
have need to draw largely on the stock of hereditary 
courage of which we boast, even before we are made 
to encounter the redoubtable Montcalm.” 

“Yon Indian is a ‘runner’ of our army and, after 
the fashion of his people, he may be accounted a 
hero,” returned the officer . 1 “He has volunteered to 
guide us to the lake, by a path little known, sooner 
than if we followed the tardy movements of the col¬ 
umn; and, by consequence, more agreeably.” 

“I like him not,” said the lady, shuddering, partly 
in assumed, yet more in real terror. “You know him, 
Duncan, or you would not trust yourself so freely to 
his keeping?” 

“Say, rather, Alice, that I would not trust you,” 
returned the young ma^i, impressively. “I do know 
him, or he would not have my confidence, and least 
of all, at this moment. He is said to be a Canadian 
too; and yet he served with our friends the Mohawks, 

Hn the first edition, “returned the young officer to 
whom she addressed herself.” 


[ 16 ] 




The Last of the Mohicans 


17 


who, as you know, are one of the six allied nations . 2 
He was brought among us, I have heard, by some 
strange accident in which your father was interested, 
and in which the savage was rigidly dealt by . 3 But I 
forget the idle tale. It is enough, that he is now 
our friend.” 

“If he has been my father’s enemy 4 I like him still 
less!” exclaimed the now really anxious girl. “Will 
you not speak to him, Major Heyward, that I may 
hear his tones? Foolish though it may be, you have 
often heard me avow my faith in the tones of the hu¬ 
man voice!” 

“It would be in vain; and answered, most probably, 
by an ejaculation. Though he may understand it, 
he affects, like most of his people, to be ignorant of 

2 There existed for a long time a confederation among 
the Indian tribes which occupied the northwestern part of 
the colony of New York, which was at first known as the 
“Five Nations.” At a later day it admitted another tribe, 
when the appellation was changed to that of the “Six 
Nations.” The original confederation consisted of the 
Mohawks, the Oneidas, the Senecas, the Cayugas, and the 
Onondagas. The sixth tribe was the Tuscaroras. There 
are remnants of all these people still living on lands se¬ 
cured to them by the State; but they are daily disappear¬ 
ing, either by deaths or by removals to scenes more con¬ 
genial to their habits In a short time there will be no 
remains of these extraordinary people, in those regions 
in which they dwelt for centuries, but their names. The 
State of New York has counties named after all of them 
but the Mohawks and the Tuscaroras. The second river 
of that State is called the Mohawk. [Cooper’s Note.] 

3 To be borne in mind as the explanation of Magua’s con¬ 
duct. See his account in chapter XI. 

4 Colonel Munro, or Monro, was the commander at Fort 
William Henry. See Cooper’s Introduction. His daugh¬ 
ters, Alice and Cora, are not historic like their father 
but were created by Cooper for the purposes of the story. 



18 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the English; and least of all would he condescend to 
speak it, now that war demands the utmost exercise 
of his dignity. But he stops; the private path by 
which we are to journey is, doubtless, at hand/’ 

The conjecture of Major Heyward was true. When 
they reached the spot where the Indian stood, point¬ 
ing into the thicket that fringed the military road, a 
narrow and blind path, which might, with some little 
inconvenience, receive one person at a time, became 
visible. 

“Here, then, lies our way,” said the young man, 
in a low voice. “Manifest no distrust, or you may 
invite the danger you appear to apprehend.” 

“Cora, what think you?” asked the reluctant fair 
one . 5 “If we journey with the troops, though we may 
find their presence irksome, shall we not feel better 
assurance of our safety?” 

“Being little accustomed to the practice of the sav¬ 
ages, Alice, you mistake the place of real danger,” 
said Heyward. “If enemies have reached the port¬ 
age at all, a thing by no means probable, as our scouts 
are abroad, they will surely be found skirting the 
column, where scalps abound the most. The route 
of the detachment is known, while ours, having been 
determined within the hour, must still be secret.” 

“Should we distrust the man because his manners 
are not our manners, and that his skin is dark?” 
coldly asked Cora. 

Alice hesitated no longer; but giving her Narra- 
gansett 6 a smart cut of the whip, she was the first to 

5i Fair one” for girl or woman was a stock expression 
in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. 

6 In the state of Rhode Island there is a bay called Nar- 
ragansett, so named after a powerful tribe of Indians which 
formerly dwelt on its banks. Accident, or one of those un¬ 
accountable freaks which nature sometimes plays in the 
animal world, gave rise to a breed of horses which were 



The Last of the Mohicans 


19 


dash aside the slight branches of the bushes, and to 
follow the runner along the dark and tangled pathway. 
The young man regarded the last speaker in open ad¬ 
miration, and even permitted her fairer, though cer¬ 
tainly not more beautiful companion to proceed unat¬ 
tended, while he sedulously opened the way himself for 
the passage of her who has been called Cora. It would 
seem that the domestics had been previously instruct¬ 
ed; for, instead of penetrating the thicket, they 
followed the route of the column, a measure which 
Heyward stated had been dictated by the sagacity 
of their guide, in order to diminish the marks of 
their trail, if, haply, the Canadian savages should be 
lurking so far in advance of their army. For many 
minutes the intricacy of their route admitted of no 
further dialogue; after which they emerged from 
the broad border of underbrush, which grew along 
the line of the highway, and entered under the high, 
but dark arches of the forest. Here their progress 
was less interrupted; and the instant their guide 
perceived that the females could command their 
steeds, he moved on, at a pace between a trot and 
a walk; and at a rate which kept the sure-footed and 
peculiar animals they rode, at a fast, and yet easy 

once well known in America by the name of the Narragan- 
setts. They were small, commonly of the color called sorrel 
in America, and distinguished by their habit of pacing. 
Horses of this race were, and are still; in much request 
as saddle-horses, on account of their hardiness and the 
ease of their movements As they were also sure of foot, 
the Narragansetts were greatly sought for by females 
who were obliged to travel over the roots and holes in 
the “new countries.” [Cooper’s Note.] 

Xarragansett is spelled with one t in early chapters 
of the first edition. Farther on it is given two t’s. The 
gait at which this breed of small sure-footed horses move 
is sometimes called a “rack” and the horses “rackets,” 



20 


The Last of the Mohicans 


amble. The youth had turned to speak to the dark¬ 
eyed Cora, when the distant sounds of horses’ hoofs, 
clattering over the roots of the broken way in his 
rear, caused him to check his charger; and his com¬ 
panions drew their reins at the same instant the 
whole party came to a halt, in order to obtain an ex¬ 
planation of the unlooked for interruption. 

In a few moments, a colt was seen gliding, like a 
fallow deer, amongst the straight trunks of the pines; 
and in another instant, the person of the ungainly 
man described in the preceding chapter came into 
view, with as much rapidity as he could excite his 
meager beast to endure, without coming to an open 
rupture. Until now this personage had escaped the 
observation of the travelers . 7 If he possessed the 
power to arrest any wandering eye, when exhibiting 
the glories of his altitude on foot, his equestrian 
graces were still more likely to attract attention 8 . 
Notwithstanding a constant application of his one 
armed heel to the flanks of the mare, the most con¬ 
firmed gait that he could establish was a Canterbury 
gallop with the hind legs, in which those more for¬ 
ward assisted for doubtful moments, though generally 
content to maintain a loping trot. Perhaps the ra¬ 
pidity of the changes from one of these paces to the 
other created an optical illusion, which might thus 
magnify the powers of the beast; for it is certain 
that Heyward, who possessed a true eye for the merits 
of a horse, was unable, with his utmost ingenuity, to 
decide by what sort of movement his pursuer worked 

7 The first edition had “In their short passage from the 
quarters of Webb to their attendants, no opportunity had 
been furnished the travellers to look upon the personage 
who now approached them.” 

8 In the first edition “were quite as observable.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


21 


his sinuous way on his footsteps with such persever¬ 
ing hardihood. 

The industry and movements of the rider were not 
less remarkable than those of the ridden. At each 
change in the evolutions of the latter, the former 
raised his tall person in the stirrups; producing, in 
this manner, by the undue elongation of his legs, 
such sudden growth and diminishings of the stature, 
as baffled every conjecture that might be made as to 
his dimensions . 9 If to this be added the fact that, 
in consequence of the ex parte 10 application of the 
spur, one side of the mare appeared to journey faster 
than the other; and that the aggrieved flank was reso¬ 
lutely indicated by unremitted flourishes of a bushy 
tail, we finish the picture of both horse and man. 

The frown which had gathered around the hand¬ 
some, open, and manly brow of Heyward, gradually 
relaxed, and his lip curled in a slight smile, as he re¬ 
garded the stranger. Alice made no very powerful 
effort to control her merriment; and even the dark, 
thoughtful eye of Cora lighted with a humor that, 
it would seem, the habit, rather than the nature, of 
its mistress repressed. 

“Seek you any here?” demanded Heyward, when 
the other had arrived sufficiently nigh to abate his 
speed. “I trust you are no messenger of evil tid¬ 
ings?” 

“Even so,” replied the stranger, making diligent 
use of his triangular castor, to produce a circulation 
in the close air of the woods, and leaving his hearers 
in doubt to which of the young man’s questions he re¬ 
sponded; when, however, he had cooled his face, and 
recovered his breath, he continued, “I hear you are 
riding to William Henry. As I am journeying thither- 

8 In the first edition “character,” 

10 On one side, or one-sided. 



22 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ward myself, I concluded good company would seem 
consistent to the wishes of both parties.” 

“Ybu appear to possess the privilege of a casting 
vote,” returned Heyward. “We are three , 11 whilst 
you have consulted no one but yourself.” 

“Even so. The first point to be obtained is to 
know one’s own mind. Once sure of that, and where 
women are concerned it is not easy, the next is, to 
act up to the decision. I have endeavored to do both, 
and here I am .” 12 

“If you journey to the lake, you have mistaken your 
route,” said Heyward, haughtily. “The highway 
thither is at least half a mile behind you.” 

“Even so,” returned the stranger, nothing daunted 
by this cold reception. “I have tarried at ‘Edward’ 
a week, and I should be dumb not to have inquired 
the road I was to journey; and if dumb there would 
be an end to my calling.” After simpering in a 
small way, like one whose modesty prohibited a more 
open expression of his admiration of a witticism 
that was perfectly unintelligible to his hearers, he 

“In the first edition the sentence read, “The division 
of voices would appear to he unjustly measured.” 

“David’s paragraph read in the first edition: “Not more 
unjustly than that ungallant youth would he charged with 
the care and keeping of two youthful ladies,” said the 
other, with a manner divided between simplicity and 
vulgar repartee. “If, however, he he a true man, and 
they true women, they will despite each other’s humor, 
and come over to his opinion, in all matters of contradic¬ 
tory opinions; so you have no more to consult than I.” 

The fair maiden dropped her laughing eyes to the bridle 
of her filly, and the slight flush on her cheek deepened 
to a rich bloom ; while the glowing tints of her companion’s 
color, altered even to paleness, as she slowly rode ahead, 
like one who already tired of the interview. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


23 


continued' 3 : “It is not prudent for any one of my 
profession to be too familiar with those he is to 
instruct 14 ; for which reason I follow not the line of 
the army; besides which, I conclude that a gentleman 
of your character has the best judgment in matters 
of wayfaring; I have therefore decided to join com¬ 
pany, in order that the ride may be made agreeable, 
and partake of social communion.” 

“A most arbitrary, if not a hasty decision!” ex¬ 
claimed Heyward, undecided whether to give vent to 
his growing anger, or to laugh 15 in the other's face. 
“But you speak of instruction, and of a profession. 
Are you an adjunct to the provincial corps, as a master 
of the noble science of defense and offense; or, per¬ 
haps, you are one who draws lines and angles, under 
the pretense of expounding the mathematics?” 

The stranger regarded his interrogator a moment, 
in wonder; and, then, losing every mark of self-satis¬ 
faction in an expression of solemn humility, he an¬ 
swered— 

“Of offense, I hope there is none, to either party: 
of defense, I make none—by God’s good mercy, having 
committed no palpable sin since last entreating his 
pardoning grace. I understand not your allusions 
about lines and angles; and I leave expounding to 
those who have been called and set apart for that 
holy office. I lay claim to no higher gift than a small 
insight into the glorious art of petitioning and thanks¬ 
giving, as practised in psalmody.” 

“The man is, most manifestly, a disciple of Apollo,” 
cried the amused Alice, “and I take him under my 
own especial protection. Nay, throw aside that 
frown, Heyward, and, in pity to my longing ears, 

13 The first edition added “with becoming gravity.” 

14 In the first edition “those he has to instruct.” 

,5 In the first edition “laugh aloud.” 



24 


The Last of the Mohicans 


suffer him to journey in our train. Besides/’ she 
added, in a low and hurried voice, casting a glance 
at the distant Cora, who slowly followed the footsteps 
of their silent but sullen guide, “it may be a friend 
added to our strength in time of need.” 

“Think you, Alice, that I would trust those I love 
by this secret path, did I imagine such need could 
happen?” 

“Nay, nay, I think not of it now; but this strange 
man amuses me; and if he ‘hath music in his soul,’ 
let us not churlishly reject his company.” She pointed 
persuasively along the path with her riding whip, 
while their eyes met in a look which the young man 
lingered a moment to prolong, then, yielding to her 
gentle influence, he clapt spurs into his charger, and 
in a few bounds was again at the side of Cora. 

“I am glad to encounter thee, friend,” continued 
the maiden, waving her hand to the stranger to pro¬ 
ceed, as she urged her Narragansett to renew her 
amble. “Partial relatives have almost persuaded 
me that I am not entirely worthless in a duet myself; 
and we may enliven our wayfaring, by indulging in 
our favorite pursuit. It might be of signal advantage 
to one, ignorant as I, to hear the opinions and experi¬ 
ence of a master in the art.” 

“It is refreshing both to the spirits and to the body 
to indulge in psalmody, in befitting seasons,” returned 
the master of song, unhesitatingly complying with 
her intimation to follow, “and nothing would relieve 
the mind more than such a consoling communion. But 
four parts are altogether necessary to the perfection 
of melody. You have all the manifestations of a 
soft and rich treble; I can, by especial aid, carry a 
full tenor to the highest letter; but we lack counter 
and bass! Yon officer of the king, who hesitated to 
admit me to his company, might fill the latter, if 


The Last of the Mohicans 


25 


one may judge from the intonations of his voice in 
common dialogue.” 

“Judge not too rashly from hasty and deceptive ap¬ 
pearances,” said the lady, smiling. “Though Major 
Heyward can assume such deep notes on occasion, 
believe me, his natural tones are better fitted for a 
mellow tenor than the bass you heard.” 

“Is he, then, much practised in the art of psalm¬ 
ody?” demanded her simple companion. 

Alice felt disposed to laugh, though she succeeded 
in suppressing her merriment, ere she answered — 

“I apprehend that he is rather addicted to profane 
song. The chances of a soldier’s life are but little 
fitted for the encouragement of more sober inclina¬ 
tions.” 

“Man’s voice is given to him, like his other talents, 
to be used, and not to be abused,” said her companion. 
“None can say they have ever known me to neglect 
my gifts! I am thankful that, though my boyhood 
may be said to have been set apart, like the youth 
of the royal David, for the purpose of music, no syl¬ 
lable of rude verse has ever profaned my lips.” 

“You have, then, limited your efforts to sacred 
song?” 

“Even so. As the psalms of David exceed all 
other language, so does the psalmody that has been 
fitted to them by the divines and sages of the land, sur¬ 
pass all vain poetry. Happily, I may say, that I utter 
nothing but the thoughts and the wishes of the King 
of Israel himself; for though the times may call for 
some slight changes, yet does this version, which we 
use in the colonies of New England, so much exceed 
all other versions, that, by its richness, its exactness, 
and its spiritual simplicity, it approacheth, as near 
as may be, to the great work of the inspired writer. 
I never abide in any place, sleeping or waking, with- 


26 


The Last of the Mohicans 


out an example of this gifted work 18 . ’Tis the six- 
and-twentieth edition, promulgated at Boston, Anno 
Domini, 1774; and is entitled The Psalms, Hymns, 
and Spiritual Songs of the Old and New Testaments; 
faithfully translated into English Meter, for the Use, 
Edification, and Comfort of the Saints, in Public and 
Private , especially in New England 

During this eulogium on the rare production of 
his native poets, the stranger had drawn the book 
from his pocket, and, fitting a pair of iron-rimmed 
spectacles to his nose, opened the volume with a care 
and veneration suited to its sacred purposes. Then, 
without circumlocution or apology, first pronouncing 
the word “Standish,” 17 and placing the unknown 
engine, 18 already described, to his mouth, from which 
he drew a high, shrill sound, that was followed by an 
octave below, from his own voice, he commenced sing¬ 
ing the following words, in full, sweet, and melodious 
tones, that set the music, the poetry, and even the 
uneasy motion of his ill-trained beast at defiance:— 
“How good it is, O see, 

And how it pleaseth well, 

Together, e’en in unity, 

For brethren so to dwell. 

It’s like the choice ointment, 

From the head to the beard did go: 

Down Aaron’s beard, that downward went 
His garment’s skirts unto.” 

The delivery of these skilful rhymes was accom- 

lfl The Bay Psalm Book, printed in 1640. It was the 
first book of song issued in America and it remained in 
general use until 1744. 

17 A well-known psalm tune. Compare “Isle of Wight,” 
chapter IX, “Northampton,” chapter XIII, and “South- 
well,” chapter XVII. 

18 Rearrange this sentence improving the faulty word 
order. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


27 


panied, on the part of the stranger, by a regular rise 
and fall of his right hand, which terminated at the 
descent by suffering the fingers to dwell a moment 
on the leaves of the little volume; and on the ascent, 
by such a flourish of the member as none but the ini¬ 
tiated may ever hope to imitate. It would seem that 
long practice had rendered this manual accompani¬ 
ment necessary; for it did not cease until the prepo¬ 
sition which the poet had selected 19 for the close of his 
verse had been duly delivered like a word of 20 two 
syllables. 

Such an innovation on the silence and retirement 
of the forest could not fail to enlist the ears of those 
who journeyed at so short a distance in advance. The 
Indian muttered a few words in broken English to 
Heyward, who, in turn, spoke to the stranger; at once 
interrupting, and, for the time, closing his musical 
efforts. 

“Though we are not in danger, common prudence 
would teach us to journey through this wilderness 
in as quiet a manner as is convenient. You will, then, 
pardon me, Alice, should I diminish your enjoyments 
for a time, by requesting this gentleman to postpone 
his chant until a safer opportunity.” 

“You will diminish them indeed,” returned the arch 
maiden, “for never did I hear a more unworthy con¬ 
junction of execution and language than that to which 
I have been listening; and I was far gone in a learned 
inquiry into the causes of such an unfitness between 
sound and sense, when you broke the charm of my 
musings by that bass of yours, Duncan!” 

“I know not what you call my bass,” said Heyward, 

,9 In the first edition “had so judiciously selected.” 

^In the first edition “in the fullest dignity of.” The 
reference is to the custom of prolonging stress in the 
metrically accented syllables of each verse. The line 
was intoned, “his gar'ments skirts unto'.” 



28 


The Last of the Mohicans 


evidently piqued at her remark, “but I do know that 
your safety, and that of Cora, is far dearer to me 
than could be any orchestra of Handel’s music.” He 
paused, and turned his head quickly towards a thicket, 
and then bent his eye suspiciously on their guide, 
who continued his steady pace in undisturbed gravity. 
The young man smiled contemptuously to himself, as 
he believed he had mistaken some shining berry of the 
woods for the glistening eyeball of a prowling savage; 
and he rode forward, continuing the conversation 
which had been thus interrupted by the passing 
thought. 

Major Heyward was mistaken only in suffering his 
youthful and generous pride to suppress his active 
watchfulness. The cavalcade had not long passed, 
before the branches of the bushes that formed the 
thicket were cautiously moved asunder, and a human 
visage as fiercely wild as savage art and unbridled pas¬ 
sions could make it, peered out on the retiring foot¬ 
steps of the travelers. A gleam of exultation shot 
across the darkly painted lineaments of the inhabitant 
of the forest, as he traced the route of his intended 
victims, who rode unconsciously onward; the light 
and graceful forms of the females waving among the 
trees, in the curvatures of their path, followed at each 
bend by the manly figure of Heyward, until, finally, 
the shapeless person of the singing-master was con¬ 
cealed behind the numberless trunks of trees, that 
rose, in dark lines, in the intermediate space. 


CHAPTER III 


“Before these fields were shorn and tilled. 

Full to the brim our rivers flowed; 4 
The melody of waters filled 
The fresh and boundless wood; 

And torrents dashed, and rivulets played, 

And fountains spouted in the shade.” 

— Bryant, An Indian at the Burial-Place of His Fathers. 

Leaving the unsuspecting Heyward and his con¬ 
fiding companions to penetrate still deeper into a for¬ 
est that contained such treacherous inmates, we must 
use an author’s privilege, and shift the scene a few 
miles to the westward of the place where we have 
last seen them. 

On that day, two men were lingering on the banks 
of a small but rapid stream, within an hour’s journey 
of the encampment of Webb, like those who awaited 
the appearance of an absent person, or the approach 
of some expected event. The vast canopy of woods 
spread itself to the margin of the river, overhanging 
the water, and shadowing its dark current with a 
deeper hue. The rays of the sun were beginning to 
grow less fierce, and the intense heat of the day was 
lessened, as the cooler vapors of the springs and 
fountains rose above their leafy beds, and rested 
in the atmosphere. Still that breathing silence which 
marks the drowsy sultriness of an American land¬ 
scape in July pervaded the secluded spot, interrupted 
only by the low voices of the men, the occasional and 
lazy tap of a woodpecker, the discordant cry of some 
gaudy jay, or a swelling on the ear, from the dull 
roar of a distant waterfall. 

These feeble and broken sounds were, however, too 
familiar to the foresters, to draw their attention from 
the more interesting matter of their dialogue. While 

[ 29 ] 


30 


The Last of the Mohicans 


one of these loiterers showed the red skin and wild 
accouterments of a native of the woods, the other 
exhibited, through the mask of his rude and nearly 
savage equipment, the brighter, though sunburnt and 
long-faded complexion of one who might claim descent 
from a European parentage. The former was seated 
on the end of a mossy log, in a posture that permitted 
him to heighten the effect of his earnest language 
by the calm but expressive gestures of an Indian en¬ 
gaged in debate. His body, which was nearly naked, 
presented a terrific emblem of death , 1 drawn in inter¬ 
mingled colors of white and black. His closely shaved 
head, on which no other hair than the well known and 
chivalrous scalping tuft" was preserved, was without 
ornament of any kind, with the exception of a solitary 
eagle's plume that crossed his crown, and depended 
over the left shoulder. A tomahawk and scalping- 
knife, of English manufacture, were in his girdle; 
while a short military rifle, of that sort with which 
the policy of the whites armed their savage allies, 
lay carelessly across his bare and sinewy knee. The 
expanded chest, full-formed limbs, and grave coun¬ 
tenance of this warrior, would denote that he had 
reached the vigor of his days, though no symptoms 
The reference is to some painting on his body, indicat¬ 
ing that he was on the war-path with deadly intentions. 
Indians often used red and yellow paint as well as black 
and white. 

2 The North American Indian warrior caused the hair 
to be plucked from his whole body; a small tuft, only, 
was left on the crown of his head in order that his enemy 
might avail himself of it. in wrenching oft' the scalp in 
the event of his fall. The scalp was the only admissible 
trophy of victory. Thus, it was deemed more important 
to obtain the scalp than to kill the man. Some tribes 
lay great stress on the honor of striking a dead body. 
These practices have nearly disappeared among the In¬ 
dians of the Atlantic States. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


Si 

of decay appeared to have yet weakened his manhood. 

The frame of the white man, judging by ouch parts 
as were not concealed by his clothes, was like that 
of one who had known hardships and exertion from 
earliest youth. His person, though muscular, was 
rather attenuated than full; but every nerve and 
muscle appeared strong and indurated by unremitted 
exposure and toil. He wore a hunting-shirt of for¬ 
est green, fringed with faded yellow 3 , and a summer 
cap of skins which had been shorn of their fur. He 
also bore a knife in a girdle of wampum, like that 
which confined the scanty garments of the Indian, 
but no tomahawk. His moccasins were ornamented 
after the gay fashion of the natives, while the only 
part of his underdress which appeared below the 
hunting-frock was a pair of buckskin leggings, that 
laced at the sides, and were gartered above the knees 
with the sinews of a deer. A pouch and horn com¬ 
pleted his personal accouterments, though a rifle of a 
great length 4 , which the theory of the more ingenious 
whites had taught them was the most dangerous of 
all firearms, leaned against a neighboring sapling. 
The eye of the hunter, or scout, whichever he might 
be, was small, quick, keen, and restless, roving while 
he spoke on every side of him, as if in quest of game, 
or distrusting the sudden approach of some lurking 
enemy. Notwithstanding these symptoms of habitual 
suspicion, his countenance was not only without guile, 

a The hunting-shirt is a picturesque smock frock, being 
shorter, and ornamented with fringes and tassels. The 
colors are intended to imitate the hues of the wood with 
a view to concealment. Many corps of American riflemen 
have been thus attired; and the dress is one of the most 
striking of modern times. The hunting-shirt is frequently 
white. [Cooper’s Note.] 

4 The rifle of the army is short; that of the hunter is 
always long. [Cooper’s Note.] 



32 


The Last of the Mohicans 


but at the moment at which he is introduced, was 
charged with an expression of sturdy honesty. 

“Even your traditions make the case in my favor, 
Chingachgook,” 3 he said, speaking in the tongue which 
was known to all the natives who formerly inhabited 
the country between the Hudson and the Potomac 8 , 
and of which we shall give a free translation for the 
benefit of the reader: endeavoring at the same time 
to preserve some of the peculiarities, both of the in¬ 
dividual and of the language. “Your fathers came 
from the setting sun, t crossed the big river, 7 fought 
the people of the country, took the land; and mine 
came from the red sky of the morning, over the salt 
lake, and did their work much after the fashion that 
had been set them by yours; then let God judge the 
matter between us, and friends spare their words!” 

“My fathers fought with the naked red man!” re¬ 
turned the Indian, sternly, in the same language. 
“Is there no difference, Hawkeye, between the stone¬ 
headed arrow of the warrior, and the leaden bullet 
with which you kill?” 

“There is reason in an Indian, though nature has 
made him with a red skin!” said the white man, shak¬ 
ing his head, like one on whom such an appeal to his 

5 Heckewelder mentions the Indian name “Chingach¬ 
gook,” meaning a large snake, Indian Nations\ Letter 
XXVI, page 431. In Letter XIX, page 399, he remarks 
that the names of reptiles generally end in gook or gookses. 
Examples are Achgook, a snake, Suckachgook, a black 
snake, Memlachgook, a spotted snake, Assakachgook, a 
green snake. 

0 Spelled “Potomack” in the first edition. 

7 The Mississippi. The Scout alludes to a tradition which 
is very popular among the tribes of the Atlantic States. 
Evidence of their Asiatic origin is deduced from the cir¬ 
cumstances, though great uncertainty hangs over the 
whole history of the Indians. [Cooper's Note.] 




The Last of the Mohicans 


33 


justice was not thrown away. For a moment he ap¬ 
peared to be conscious of having the worst of the 
argument: then, rallying again, he answered to the 
objection of his antagonist in the best manner his 
limited information would allow. “I am no scholar, 
and I care not who knows it; but, judging from what 
I have seen, at deer chases and squirrel hunts, of the 
sparks below, I should think a rifle in the hands of 
their grandfathers was not so dangerous as a hickory 
bow" and a good flint-headed arrow might be, if drawn 
with Indian judgment, and sent by an Indian eye.” 

“You have the story told by your fathers,” returned 
the other, coldly, waving his hand. “What say your 
old men? Do they tell the young warriors that the 
pale-faces met the red-men, painted for war and 
armed with the stone hatchet and wooden gun?” 

“I am not a prejudiced man, nor one who vaunts 
himself on his natural privileges, though the worst 
enemy I have on earth, and he is an Iroquois, daren’t 
deny that I am genuine white,” the scout replied, 
surveying, with secret satisfaction, the faded color of 
his bony and sinewy hand, “and I am willing to own 
that my people have many ways of which, as an 
honest man, I can’t approve. It is one of their cus¬ 
toms to write in books what they have done and seen, 
instead of telling them in their villages, where the lie 
can be given in the face of the cowardly boaster, and 
the brave soldier can call on his comrades to witness 
for the truth of his words. In consequence of this 
bad fashion, a man who is too conscientious to mis¬ 
spend his days, among the women, in learning the 
names of black marks, may never hear of the deeds 
of his fathers, nor feel a pride in striving to outdo 

“Indian skill with the bow and arrow was often very 
remarkable. 



34 


The Last of the Mohicans 


them. For myself, I conclude the Bumppos 9 could 
shoot, for I have a natural turn with a rifle, which 
must have been handed down from generation to 
generation, as, our holy commandments tell us, all 
good and evil gifts are bestowed; though I should be 
loth to answer for other people in such a matter. 
But every story has its two sides; so I ask you, 
Chingachgook, what passed, according to the tradi¬ 
tions of the red-men, when our fathers first met?” 

A silence of a minute succeeded, during which the 
Indian sat mute; then, full of the dignity of his office, 
he commenced his brief tale, with a solemnity that 
served to heighten its appearance of truth. 

“Listen, Hawkeye, and your ear shall drink no lie. 
Tis what my fathers have said, and what the Mo¬ 
hicans have done.” He hesitated a single instant, and 
bending a cautious glance toward his companion, he 
continued, in a manner that was divided between in¬ 
terrogation and assertion, “Does not this stream at 
our feet run towards the summer, until its waters 
grow salt, and the current flows upward?” 

“It can’t be denied that your traditions tell you 
true in both these matters,” said the white man, “for 
I have, been there, and have seen them; though, why 
water, which is so sweet in the shade, should become 
bitter in the sun, is an alteration for which I have 
never been able to account.” 

“And the current!” demanded the Indian, who ex¬ 
pected his reply with that sort of interest that a man 
feels in the confirmation of testimony, at which he 
marvels even while he respects it. “The fathers of 
Chingachgook have not lied!” 

“The Holy Bible is not more true, and that is the 

"The scout's family or surname was Bumppo. His Chris¬ 
tian name was Nathaniel, shortened to Natty. Compare 
chapter XXIX. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


35 


truest thing in nature. They call this up-stream 
current the tide, which is a thing soon explained, and 
clear enough. Six hours the waters run in, and six 
hours they run out, and the reason is this: when 
there is higher water in the sea than in the river, it 
runs in until the river gets to be highest, and then 
it runs out again.” 

“The waters in the woods and on the great lakes 
run downward, until they lie like my hand,” said the 
Indian, stretching the limb horizontally before him, 
“and then they run no more.” 

“No honest man will deny it,” said the scout, a 
little nettled at the implied distrust of his explanation 
of the mystery of the tides, “and I grant that it is 
true on the small scale, and where the land is level. 
But everything depends on what scale you look at 
things. Now on the small scale, the ’arth is level, 
but on the large scale it is round. In this manner 
pools and ponds, and even the great fresh-water lakes, 
may be stagnant, as you and I both know they are, 
having seen them; but when you come to spread 
water over a great tract, like the sea, where the 
earth is round, how in reason can the water be quiet? 
You might as well expect the river to lie still on the 
brink of those black rocks a mile above us, though 
your own ears tell you that it is tumbling over them 
at this very moment!” 

If unsatisfied by the philosophy of his companion, 
the Indian was far too dignified to betray his unbe¬ 
lief. He listened like one who was convinced, and 
resumed his narrative in his former solemn manner. 

“We came from the place where the sun is hid at 
night, over great plains where the buffaloes lived, 
until we reached the big river. There we fought the 
Alligewi, till the ground was red with their blood. 
From the banks of the big river to the shores of the 
salt lake, there was none to meet us. The Maquas 


36 


The Last of the Mohicans 


followed at a distance. We said the country should 
be ours from the place where the water runs up no 
longer on this stream, to a river twenty suns’ jour¬ 
ney toward the summer. The land we had taken like 
warriors, we kept like men. We drove the Maquas 
into the woods with the bears. They only tasted salt 
at the licks ; 10 they drew no fish from the great lake; 
we threw them the bones.” 

“All this I have heard and believe,” said the white 
man, observing that the Indian paused, “but it was 
long before the English came into * the country.” 

“A pine grew then where this chestnut now stands. 
The first pale-faces who came among us spoke no Eng¬ 
lish. They came in a large canoe, when my fathers 
had buried the tomahawk with the red-men around 
them. Then, Hawkeye,” he continued, betraying his 
deep emotion only by permitting his voice to fall to 
those low, guttural tones which rendered his lan¬ 
guage, as spoken at times, so very musical, “then, 
Hawkeye, we were one people, and we were happy. 
The salt lake gave us its fish, the wood its deer, and 
the air its birds. We took wives who bore us chil¬ 
dren; we worshiped the Great Spirit; and we kept 
the Maquas beyond the sound of our songs of tri¬ 
umph !” 

“Know you anything of your own family at that 
time?” demanded the white. “But you are a just 
man, for an Indian! and, as I suppose you hold their 
gifts, your fathers must have been brave warriors, 
and wise men at the council fire.” 

“My tribe is the grandfather of nations, but I am 
an unmixed man. The blood of chiefs is in my veins, 
where it must stay forever. The Dutch landed, and 
gave my people the fire-water; they drank until the 
heavens and the earth seemed to meet, and they fool¬ 
ishly thought they had found the Great Spirit. Then 


30 See Cooper’s Note, Chapter XII, 25. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


37 


they parted with their land. Foot by foot, they were 
driven back from the shores, until I, that am a chief 
and a sagamore, have never seen the sun shine but 
through the trees, and have never visited the graves 
of my fathers!” 

“Graves bring solemn feelings over the mind,” re¬ 
turned the scout, a good deal touched at the calm 
suffering of his companion, “and they often aid a 
man in his good intentions; though, for myself, I ex¬ 
pect to leave my own bones unburied, to bleach in the 
woods, or to be torn asunder by the wolves. But 
where are to be found those of your race who came to 
their kin in the Delaware country, so many summers 
since?” 

“Where are the blossoms of those summers!—fall 
en, one by one: so all of my family departed, each 
in his turn, to the land of spirits. I am on the hill¬ 
top, and must go down into the valley; and when 
Uncas follows in my footsteps, there will no longer 
be any of the blood of the sagamores, for my boy is 
the last of the Mohicans.” 

“Uncas is here!” said another voice, in the same 
soft, guttural tones, near his elbow. “Who speaks to 
Uncas?” 

The white man loosened his knife in his leathern 
sheath, and made an involuntary movement of the 
hand towards his rifle, at this sudden interruption; 
but the Indian sat composed, and without turning his 
head at the unexpected sounds. 

At the next instant, a youthful warrior passed be¬ 
tween them with a noiseless step, and seated himself 
on the bank of the rapid stream. No exclamation of 
surprise escaped the father, nor was any question 
made, or reply given, for several minutes, each ap¬ 
pearing to await the moment when he might speak 
without betraying a womanish curiosity or childish 
impatience. The white man seemed to take counsel 


38 The Last of the Mohicans 

from their customs, and relinquishing his grasp of 
the rifle, he also remained silent and reserved. At 
length Chingachgook turned his eyes slowly towards 
his son, and demanded— 

“Do the Maquas dare to leave the print of their 
moccasins in these woods?” 

“I have been on their trail,” replied the young In¬ 
dian, “and know that they number as many as the 
fingers of my two hands; but they lie hid like cow¬ 
ards.” 

“The thieves are outlying for scalps and plunder!” 
said the white man, whom we shall call Hawkeye, af¬ 
ter the manner of his companions. “That busy French¬ 
man, Montcalm, will send his spies into our very 
camp, but he will know what road we travel!” 

“’Tis enough!” returned the father, glancing his 
eye towards the setting sun. “They shall be driven 
like deer from their bushes. Hawkeye, let us eat to¬ 
night, and show the Maquas that we are men to¬ 
morrow.” 

“I am ready to do the one as the other,” replied the 
scout. “But to fight the Iroquois, ’tis necessary to 
find the skulkers; and to eat ’tis necessary to get the 
game— Talk of the devil and he will come. There 
is a pair of the biggest antlers I have ever seen this 
season, moving the bushes below the hill! Now, 
Uncas,” he continued in a half whisper, and laughing 
with a kind of inward sound, like one who had learnt 
to be watchful, “I will bet my charger three times full 
of powder, against a foot of wampum, that I take him 
atwixt the eyes, and nearer to the right than to the 
left.” 

“It cannot be!” said the young Indian, springing 
to his feet with youthful eagerness. “All but the 
tips of his horns are hid!” 

“He’s a boy,” said the white man, shaking his head 
while he spoke, and addressing the father. “Does he 


The Last of the Mohicans 


39 


think when a hunter sees a part of the creatur, he 
can’t tell where the rest of him should be!” 

Adjusting his rifle, he was about to make an exhibi¬ 
tion of that skill on which he so much valued himself, 
when the warrior struck up the piece with his hand, 
saying, 

“Hawkeye! will you fight the Maquas?” 

“These Indians know the nature of the woods, as it 
might be by instinct!” returned the scout, dropping 
his rifle, and turning away like a man who was con¬ 
vinced of his error. “I must leave the buck 11 to your 
arrow, Uncas, or we may kill a deer for them thieves, 
the Iroquois, to eat.” 

The instant the father seconded this intimation, by 
an expressive gesture of the hand, Uncas threw him¬ 
self on the ground, and approached the animal with 
wary movements. When within a few yards of the 
cover, he fitted an arrow to his bow with the utmost 
care, while the antlers moved, as if their owner 
snuffed an enemy in the tainted air. In another mo¬ 
ment the twang of the bow was heard, a white streak 
was seen glancing into the bushes, and the wounded 
buck plunged from the cover, to the very feet of his 
hidden enemy. Avoiding the horns of the infuriated 
animal, Uncas darted to his side, and passed his knife 
across the throat, when bounding to the edge of the 
river it fell, dyeing the waters with its blood. 

“’Twas done with Indian skill,” said the scout, 
laughing inwardly, but with vast satisfaction, “and 
’twas a pretty sight to behold! Though an arrow is 
a near shot, and needs a knife to finish the work.” 

“Hugh !” 12 ejaculated his companion, turning quick¬ 
ly, like a hound who scented game. 

“By the Lord, there is a drove of them!” exclaimed 

n In the first edition “that buck.” 

12 In Cooper's book the favorite and almost the only 
Indian exclamation. 



40 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the scout, whose eyes began to glisten with the ardor 
of his usual occupation. ‘Tf they come within range 
of a bullet I will drop one, though the whole Six Na¬ 
tions should be lurking within sound! What do you 
hear, Chingachgook, for to my ears the woods are 
dumb?” 

“There is but one deer, and he is dead,” said the 
Indian, bending his body till his ear nearly touched 
the earth. “I hear the sounds of feet!” 

“Perhaps the wolves have driven the buck to shel¬ 
ter, and are following on his trial.” 

“No. The horses of white men are coming!” re¬ 
turned the other, raising himself with dignity, and 
resuming his seat on the log with his former com¬ 
posure. “Hawkeye, they are your brothers; speak to 
them.” 

“That will I, and in English that the king needn’t 
be ashamed to answer,” returned the hunter, speak¬ 
ing in the language of which he boasted. “But I see 
nothing, nor do I hear the sounds of man or beast. 
’Tis strange that an Indian should understand white 
sounds better than a man who, his very enemies will 
own, has no cross in his blood , 13 although he may have 
lived with the red-skins long enough to be suspected! 
Ha! there goes something like the cracking of a dry 
stick, too—now I hear the bushes move—yes, yes, 
there is a trampling that I mistook for the falls— 
and—but here they come themselves; God keep them 
from the Iroquois!” 


‘ 3 Of pure stock, having no mixed or “halfbreed” blood in 
his veins. This was a favorite boast of the scout. 



CHAPTER IV 


“Well, go thy way, thou shalt not from this grove, 
Till I torment thee for this injury.” 

—Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, II, i. 

The words were still in the mouth of the scout, 
when the leader of the party, whose approaching foot¬ 
steps had caught the vigilant ear of the Indian, came 
openly into view. A beaten path, such as those made 
by the periodical passage of the deer, wound through 
a little glen at no great distance, and struck the river 
at the point where the white man and his red coim 
panions had posted themselves. Along this track the 
travelers, v>ho had produced a surprise so unusual 
in the depths of the forest, advanced slowly towards 
the hunter, who was in front of his associates in 
readiness to receive them. 

“Who comes?” demanded the scout, throwing his 
rifle carelessly across his left arm, and keeping the 
forefinger of his right hand on the trigger, though 
he avoided all appearance of menace in the act. 
“Who comes hither, among the beasts and dangers of 
the wilderness?” 

“Believers in religion, and friends to the law and 
to the king,” returned he who rode foremost of the 
party. “Men who have journeyed since the rising 
sun, in the shades of this forest, without nourish¬ 
ment, and are sadly tired of their wayfaring.” 

“You are, then, lost,” interrupted the hunter, “and 
have found how helpless ’tis not to know whether to 
take the right hand or the left?” 

“Even so: sucking babes are not more dependent 
on those who guide them, than we who are of larger 
growth, and who may now be said to possess the 
stature without the knowledge of men. Know you 


[ 41 ] 


42 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the distance to a post of the crown called William 
Henry?” 

“Hoot!” shouted the scout, who did not spare his 
open laughter, though, instantly checking the danger¬ 
ous sounds, he indulged his merriment at less risk 
of being overheard by any lurking enemies. “You 
are as much off the scent as a hound would be, with 
Horican atwixt him and the deer! William Henry, 
man! if you are friends to the king, and have busi¬ 
ness with the army, your better way would be to fol¬ 
low the river down to Edward, and lay the matter 
before Webb; who tarries there, instead of pushing 
into the defiles and driving this saucy Frenchman 
back across Champlain, into his den again.” 

Before the stranger could make any reply to this 
unexpected proposition, another horseman dashed the 
bushes aside, and leaped his charger into the path¬ 
way, in front of his companion. 

“What, then, may be our distance from Fort Ed¬ 
ward?” demanded a new speaker. “The place you 
advise us to seek we left this morning, and our des¬ 
tination is the head of the lake.” 

“Then you must have lost your eyesight before 
losing your way, for the road across the portage is 
cut to a good two rods, and is as grand a path, I 
calculate, as any that runs into London, or even before 
the palace of the king himself.” 

“We will not dispute concerning the excellence of 
the passage,” returned Heyward, smiling; for, as the 
reader has anticipated, it was he. “It is enough, for 
the present, that we trusted to an Indian guide to 
take us by a nearer, though blinder path, and that 
we are deceived in his knowledge. In plain words, 
we know not where we are.” 

“An Indian lost in the woods!” said the scout, 
shaking his head doubtingly, “when the sun is scorch¬ 
ing the tree-tops, and the water-courses are full; 


The Last of the Mohicans 


43 


when the moss on every beech he sees will tell him 
in which quarter the north star will shine at night! 
The woods are full of deer-paths which run to the 
streams and licks, places well known to everybody; 
nor have the geese done their flight to the Canada 
waters altogether! ’Tis strange that an Indian 
should be lost atwixt Horican and the bend in the 
river. Is he a Mohawk?” 

“Not by birth, though adopted in that tribe. I 
think his birthplace was further north, and he is 
one of those you call a Huron.” 1 

“Hugh!” exclaimed the two companions of the 
scout, who had continued, until this part of the dia¬ 
logue, seated immovable, and apparently indifferent 
to what passed, but who now sprang to their feet 
with an activity and interest that had evidently got 
the better of their reserve, by surprise. 

“A Huron!” repeated the sturdy scout, once more 
shaking his head in open distrust. “They are a 
thievish race, nor do I care by whom they are adopted; 
you can never make anything of them but skulks and 
vagabonds. Since you trusted yourself to the care 
of one of that nation, I only wonder that you have 
not fallen in with more.” 

“Of that there is little danger, since William Henry 
is so many miles in our front. You forgot that I 
have told you our guide is now a Mohawk, and that 
he serves with our forces as a friend.” 

“And I tell you that he is born a Mingo will die 
a Mingo,” returned the other, positively. “A Mo¬ 
hawk! No, give me a Delaware or a Mohican for 
honesty; and when they will fight, which they won’t 
all do, having suffered their cunning enemies, the 
Maquas, to make them women—but when they will 
fight at all, look to a Delaware or a Mohican for a 
warrior!” 

'Better, “one of those you call Hurons.” 



44 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Enough of this,” said Heyward, impatiently, “I 
wish not to inquire into the character of a man that 
I know, and to whom you must be a stranger. You 
have not yet answered my question. What is our 
distance from the main army at Edward?” 

“It seems that may depend on who is your guide. 
One would think such a horse as that might get over 
a good deal of ground atwixt sun-up and sun-down.” 

“I wish no contention of idle words with you, 
friend,” said Heyward, curbing his dissatisfied man¬ 
ner, and speaking in a more gentle voice. “If you 
will tell me the distance to Fort Edward, and con¬ 
duct me thither, your labor shall not go without its 
reward.” 

“And in so doing, how know I that I don’t guide an 
enemy, and a spy of Montcalm, to the works of the 
army? It is not every man who can speak the English 
tongue that is an honest subject.” 

“If you serve with the troops of whom I judge you 
to be a scout, you should know of such a regiment of 
the king as the 60th.” 

“The 60th! you can tell me little of the Royal Amer¬ 
icans that I don’t know, though I do wear a hunting- 
shirt instead of a scarlet jacket.” 

“Well, then, among the other things, you may know 
the name of its major?” 

“Its major!” interrupted the hunter, elevating his 
body like one who was proud of his trust. “If there 
is a man in the country who knows Major Effingham, 
he stands before you.” 

“It is a corps which has many majors; the gentle¬ 
man you name is the senior, but I speak of the junior 
of them all; he who commands the companies in gar¬ 
rison at William Henry.” 

“Yes, yes, I have heard that a young gentleman of 
vast riches, from one of the provinces far south, has 
got the place. He is over young, too, to hold such 


The Last of the Mohicans 


45 


rank, and to be put above men whose heads are be¬ 
ginning to bleach; and yet they say he is a soldier in 
his knowledge, and a gallant gentleman!” 

“Whatever he may be, or however he may be quali¬ 
fied for his rank, he now speaks to you, and of course 
can be no enemy to dread.” 

The scout regarded Heyward in surprise, and then 
lifting his cap, he answered, in a tone less confident 
than before, though still expressing doubt,— 

“I have heard a party was to leave the encamp¬ 
ment this morning, for the lake shore?” 

“You have heard the truth; but I preferred a near¬ 
er route, trusting to the knowledge of the Indian I 
mentioned.” 

“And he deceived you, and then deserted?” 

“Neither, as I believe; certainly not the latter, for 
he is to be found in the rear.” 

“I should like to look at the creatur; if it is a true 
Iroquois I can tell him by his knavish look, and by his 
paint,” said the scout; stepping past the charger of 
Heyward, and entering the path behind the mare of 
the singing-master, whose foal had taken advantage 
of the halt to exact the maternal contribution. After 
shoving aside the bushes, and proceeding a few paces, 
he encountered the females, who awaited the result 
of the conference with anxiety, and not entirely with¬ 
out apprehension. Behind these, the runner leaned 
against a tree, where he stood the close examination 
of the scout with an air unmoved, though with a 
look so dark and savage, that it might in itself excite 
fear. Satisfied with his scrutiny, the hunter soon 
left him. As he repassed the females, he paused a 
moment to gaze upon their beauty, answering to the 
smile and nod of Alice with a look of open pleasure. 
Thence he went to the side of the motherly animal, 
and spending a minute in a fruitless inquiry into the 


46 


The Last of the Mohicans 


character of her rider, he shook his head and returned 
to Hayward. 

“A Mingo is a Mingo, and God having made him so, 
neither the Mohawks nor any other tribe can alter 
him,” he said when he had regained his former posi¬ 
tion. “If we were alone, and you would leave that 
noble horse at the mercy of the wolves tonight, I 
could show you the way to Edward myself, within an 
hour, for it lies only about an hour’s journey hence; 
but with such ladies in your company, ’tis impossible!” 

“And why? They are fatigued, but are quite equal 
to a ride of a few more miles.” 

“ 'Tis a natural impossibility!” repeated the scout, 
with a determined air. “I wouldn’t walk a mile in 
these woods after night gets into them, in company 
with that runner, for the best rifle in the colonies. 
They are full of outlying Iroquois, and your mongrel 
Mohawk knows where to find them too well, to be my 
companion.” 

“Think you so?” said Heyward, leaning forward in 
the saddle, and dropping his voice nearly to a whis¬ 
per. “I confess I have not been without my own sus¬ 
picions, though I have endeavored to conceal them, 
and affected a confidence I have not always felt, on 
account of my companions. It was because I sus¬ 
pected him, that I would follow no longer; making 
him, as you see, follow me.” 

“I knew he was one of the cheats as soon as I laid 
eyes on him!” returned the scout, placing his finger on 
his nose in sign of caution. “The thief is leaning 
against the foot of the sugar sapling that you can see 
over them bushes; his right leg is in a line with the 
bark of the tree, and,” tapping his rifle, “I can take 
him, from where I stand, between the ankle and the 
knee, with a single shot, putting an end to his tramp¬ 
ling through the woods for at least a month to come. 
If I should go back to him, the cunning varmint would 


The Last of the Mohicans 


47 


suspect something, and be dodging through the trees 
like any frightened deer.” 

“It will not do. He may be innocent, and I dislike 
the act. Though, if I felt confident of his treach¬ 
ery”— 

“ ’Tis a safe thing to calculate on the knavery of 
an Iroquois,” said the scout, throwing his rifle for¬ 
ward, by a sort of instinctive movement. 

“Hold!” interrupted Heyward, “it will not do—we 
must think of some other scheme;—and yet I have 
much reason to believe the rascal has deceived me.” 

The hunter, who had already abandoned his inten¬ 
tion to maim the runner, at the orders of his superior, 
mused a moment and then made a gesture which in¬ 
stantly brought his two red companions to his side. 
They spoke together earnestly in the Delaware lan¬ 
guage, though in an undertone; and by the gestures 
of the white man, which were frequently directed to¬ 
wards the top of the sapling, it was evident he pointed 
out the situation of their hidden enemy. His com¬ 
panions were not long in comprehending his wishes, 
and laying aside their firearms, they parted, taking 
opposite sides of the path, and burying themselves in 
the thicket, with such cautious movements, that their 
steps were inaudible. 

“Now, go you back,” said the hunter, speaking 
again to Heyward, “and hold the imp in talk. These 
Mohicans here will take him without breaking his 
paint.” 

“Nay,” said Heyward, proudly, “I will seize him 
myself.” 

“Hist! what could you do, mounted, against an In¬ 
dian in the bushes?” 

“I will dismount.” 

“And, think you, when he saw one of your feet out 
of the stirrup, he would wait for the other to be free? 
Whoever comes into the woods to deal with the na- 


48 


The Last of the Mohicans 


tives, must use Indian fashions, if he would wish to 
prosper in his undertakings. Go, then, talk openly 
to the miscreant and seem to believe him the truest 
friend you have on ’arth.” 

Heyward prepared to comply, though with strong 
disgust at the nature of the office he was compelled 
to execute. Each moment, however, pressed upon him 
a conviction of the critical situation in which he had 
suffered his invaluable trust to be involved through 
his own confidence . 2 The sun had already disappeared, 
and the woods, suddenly deprived of his light , 3 were 
assuming a dusky hue, which keenly reminded him 
that the hour the savage usually chose for his most 
barbarous and remorseless acts of vengeance or hos¬ 
tility, was speedily drawing near. Stimulated by ap¬ 
prehension, he left the scout, who immediately entered 
into a loud conversation with the stranger that had 
so unceremoniously enlisted himself in the party of 
travelers that morning. In passing his gentler com¬ 
panions Heyward uttered a few words of encourage¬ 
ment, and was pleased to find that, though fatigued 
with the exercise of the day, they appeared to enter¬ 
tain no suspicion that their present embarrassment 
was other than the result of accident. Giving them 
reason to believe he was merely employed in a con¬ 
sultation concerning the future route, he spurred his 
charger, and drew the reins again when the animal 
had carried him within a few yards of the place 
where the sullen runner still stood, leaning against 
the tree. 

“You may see, Magua,” he said, endeavoring to as¬ 
sume an air of freedom and confidence, “that the night 
is closing around us, and yet we are no nearer to Wil- 

2 The first edition had “fearless confidence.” 

3 The scene of this tale was in the 42nd degree of latitude, 
where the twilight is never of long continuance. [Cooper’s 
Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


49 


liam Henry than when we left the encampment of 
Webb with the rising sun. You have missed the way, 
nor have I been more fortunate. But, happily, we 
have fallen in with a hunter, he whom you hear talk¬ 
ing to the singer, that is acquainted with the deer- 
paths and by-ways of the woods, and who promises 
to lead us to a place where we may rest securely till 
the morning.” 

The Indian riveted his glowing eyes on Heyward 
as he asked, in his imperfect English, “Is he alone?” 

“Alone!” hesitatingly answered Heyward, to whom 
deception was too new to be assumed without embar¬ 
rassment. “Oh! not alone, surely, Magua, for you 
know that we are with him.” 

“Then Le Renard Subtil 4 will go,” returned the run¬ 
ner, coolly raising his little wallet from the place 
where it had lain at his feet, “and the pale-faces will 
see none but their own color.” 

“Go! Whom call you Le Renard?” 

“ ’Tis the name his Canada fathers have given to 
Magua,” returned the runner, with an air that mani¬ 
fested his pride at the distinction, though probably 
quite ignorant of the character conveyed by the ap¬ 
pellation. “Night is the same as day to Le Subtil 
when Munro waits for him.” 

“And what account will Le Renard give the chief of 
William Henry concerning his daughters? Will he 
dare to tell the hot-blooded Scotsman that his chil¬ 
dren are left without a guide, though Magua promised 
to be one?” 

“The gray-head has a loud voice, and a long arm, 
but will Le Renard hear him or feel him in the 
woods?” returned the wary runner. 

“The meaning of this French phrase is “the cunning fox,” 
or “the sly fox.” The name “The Foxes” (“Les Renards”) 
was given by the French to an Indian tribe, and this may 

have suggested to Cooper his name for Magua. 


50 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“But what will the Mohawks say? They will make 
him petticoats, and bid him stay in the wigwam with 
the women, for he is no longer to be trusted with the 
business of a man.” 

“Le Subtil knows the path to the great lakes, and 
can find the bones of his fathers,” was the answer 
of the unmoved runner. 

“Enough, Magua,” said Heyward. “Are we not 
friends? Why should there be bitter words between 
us? Munro has promised a gift for your services 
when performed, and I shall be your debtor for an¬ 
other. Rest your weary limbs, then, and open your 
wallet to eat. We have a few moments to spare. 
Let us then not .waste them in talk like wrangling 
women. When the ladies are refreshed we will 
proceed.” 

“The pale-faces make themselves dogs to their 
women,” muttered the Indian, in his native language, 
“and when they want to eat, their warriors must 
lay aside the tomahawk to feed their laziness.” 

“What say you, Renard?” 

“Le Subtil says it is good.” 

The Indian then fastened his eyes keenly on the 
open countenance of Heyward, but meeting his 
glance, he turned them quickly away, seating himself 
deliberately on the ground, he drew forth the ren> 
nant of some former repast, and began to eat, 
though not without first bending his looks slowly 
and cautiously around him. 

“This is well,” continued Heyward, “and Le Renard 
will have strength and sight to find the path in the 
morning.” He paused, for sounds like the snapping 
of a dried stick, and the rustling of leaves, rose from 
the adjacent bushes, but recollecting himself instant¬ 
ly, he continued. “We must be moving before the 
sun is seen, or Montcalm may lie in our path, and 
shut us out from the fortress.” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


51 


The hand of Magua dropped from his mouth to his 
side, and though his eyes were fastened on the 
ground, his head was turned aside, his nostrils ex¬ 
panded, and his ears seemed even to stand more erect 
than usual, giving to him the appearance of a statue 
that was made to represent intense attention. 

Heyward, who watched his movements with a vigi¬ 
lant eye, carelessly extracted one of his feet from the 
stirrup, while he passed a hand toward the bear¬ 
skin covering of his holsters. Every effort to detect 
the point most regarded by the runner, was com¬ 
pletely frustrated by the tremulous glances of his 
organs 5 which seemed not to rest a single instant on 
any particular object, and which, at the same time, 
could be hardly said to move. While he hesitated 
how to proceed, Le Subtil cautiously raised himself 
to his feet, though with a motion so slow and guarded, 
that not the slightest noise was produced by the 
change. Heyward felt it had now become incumbent 
on him to act. Throwing his leg over the saddle, 
he dismounted, with a determination to advance and 
seize his treacherous companion, trusting the result 
to his own manhood. In order, however, to prevent 
unnecessary alarm, he still preserved an air of calm¬ 
ness and friendship. 

“Le Renard Subtil does not eat,” he said, using 
the appellation he had found most flattering to the 
vanity of the Indian. “His corn is not well parched, 
and seems dry. Let me examine; perhaps something 
may be found among my own provisions that will help 
his appetite.” 

Magua held out the wallet to meet the proffer of 
the other. He even suffered their hands to meet, 
without betraying the least emotion, or varying his 
i riveted attitude of attention. But when he felt the 

6 Eyes. Cooper uses this word (a favorite with him) 
of the ears, also. 





52 


The Last of the Mohicans 


fingers of Heyward moving gently along his own 
naked arm, he struck up the limb of the young man, 
and uttering a piercing cry, as he darted beneath it, 
plunged, at a single bound, into the opposite thicket. 
At the next instant, the form of Chingachgook ap¬ 
peared from the bushes, looking like a specter in its 
paint, and glided across the path in swift pursuit. 
Next followed the shout of Uncas, when the woods 
were lighted by a sudden flash, that was accompanied 
by the sharp report of the hunter’s rifle. 




CHAPTER V 


"In such a night 

Did Thisbe fearfully o’ertrip the dew; 

And saw the lion's shadow ere himself.” 

—Shakespeake, Merchant of Venice, V, i. 

The suddenness of the flight of the guide, and the 
wild cries of the pursuers, caused Heyward to re¬ 
main fixed, for a few moments, in inactive surprise. 
Then recollecting the importance of securing the fugi¬ 
tive, he dashed aside the surrounding bushes, and 
pressed eagerly forward to lend his aid in the chase. 
.Before he had, however, proceeded a hundred yards, 
he met the three foresters already returning from 
their unsuccessful pursuit. 

“Why so soon disheartened?” he exclaimed. “The 
scoundrel must be concealed behind some of these 
trees, and may yet be secured. We are not safe 
while he goes at large.” 

“Would you set a cloud to chase the wind?” re¬ 
turned the disappointed scout. “I heard the imp 
brushing over the dry leaves like a black snake, and 
blinking a glimpse of him, just over ag’in yon big 
pine, I pulled as it might be on the scent; but 
’twouldn’t do! and yet for a reasoning aim, if any¬ 
body but myself had touched the trigger, I should 
call it a quick sight; and I may be accounted to have 
experience in these matters, and one who ought to 
know. Look at this sumach; its leaves are red, 
though everybody knows the fruit is in the yellow 
blossom in the month of July!” 

“ Tis the blood of Le Subtil! He is hurt, and may 
yet fall!” 

“No, no,” returned the scout, in decided disappro¬ 
bation of the opinion, “I rubbed the bark off a limb, 
perhaps, but the creature leaped the longer for it. 
A rifle-bullet acts on a running animal, when it barks 

[ 53 ] 


54 


The Last of the Mohicans 


him, much the same as one of your spurs on a horse; 
that is, it quickens motion, and puts life into the 
flesh instead of taking it away. But when it cuts a 
ragged hole, after a bound or two, there is, commonly, 
a stagnation of further leaping, be it Indian or be 
it deer!” 

“We are four able bodies, to one wounded man!” 

“Is life grievous to you?” interrupted the scout. 
“Yonder red devil would draw you within swing of 
the tomahawks of his comrades, before you were 
heated in the chase. It was an unthoughtful act 
in a man who has so often slept with the war-whoop 
ringing in the air, to let off his piece within sound 
of an ambushment! But then it was a natural 
temptation! ’twas very natural! Come, friends, let 
us move our station, and in such a fashion, too, as 
will throw the cunning of a Mingo on a wrong scent, 
or our scalps will be drying in the wind in front 
of Montcalm’s marquee, ag’in this hour tomorrow.” 

This appalling declaration, which the scout uttered 
with the cool assurance of a man who fully com¬ 
prehended, while he did not fear to face the danger, 
served to remind Heyward of the importance of the 
charge with which he himself had been intrusted. 
Glancing his eye around, with a vain effort to pierce 
the gloom that was thickening beneath the leafy 
arches of the forest, he felt as if , 1 cut off from human 
aid, his unresisting companions would soon lie at the 
entire mercy of those barbarous enemies, who, like 
beasts of prey, only waited till the gathering dark¬ 
ness might render their blows more fatally certain. 
His awakened imagination, deluded by the deceptive 
light, converted each waving bush, or the fragment 
of some fallen tree, into human forms, and twenty 
times he fancied he could distinguish the horrid 
visages of his lurking foes, peering from their hid- 

‘Better “as though.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


55 


ing places, in never-ceasing watchfulness of the move¬ 
ments of his party. Looking upward, he found that 
the thin fleecy clouds, which evening had painted 
on the blue sky, were already losing their faintest 
tints of rose-color, while the imbedded stream, which 
glided past the spot where he stood, was to be traced 
only by the dark boundary of its wooded banks. 

“What is to be done?” he said, feeling the utter 
helplessness of doubt in such a pressing strait. “De¬ 
sert me not, for God’s sake! Remain to defend those 
I escort, and freely name your own reward!” 

His companions, who conversed apart in the lan¬ 
guage of their tribe, heeded not this sudden and 
earnest appeal. Though their dialogue was main¬ 
tained in low and cautious sounds, but little above 
a whisper, Heyward, who now approached, could 
easily distinguish the earnest tones of the younger 
warrior from the more deliberate speeches of his 
seniors. It was evident that they debated on the 
propriety of some measure that nearly concerned the 
welfare of the travelers. Yielding to his powerful 
interest in the subject, and impatient of a delay 
that seemed fraught with so much additional danger, 
Heyward drew still nigher to the dusky group, with 
an intention of making his offers of compensation 
more definite, when the white man, motioning with 
his hand, as if he conceded the disputed point, 
turned away, saying in a sort of soliloquy, and in 
the English tongue— 

“Uncas is right: it would not be the act of men to 
leave such harmless things to their fate, even though 
it breaks up the harboring place forever. If you 
would save these tender blossoms from the fangs of 
the worst of serpents, gentleman, you have neither 
time to lose nor resolutions to throw away!” 

“How can such a wish be doubted! Have I not 
already offered—” 


56 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Offer your prayers to Him, who can give us wis¬ 
dom to carcumvent the cunning of the devils who 
fill these woods/’ calmly interrupted the scout. “But 
spare your offers of money, which neither you may 
live to realize, nor I to profit by. These Mohicans 
and I will do what man’s thoughts can invent to 
keep such flowers (which though so sweet were never 
made for the wilderness) from harm, and that with¬ 
out hope of any other recompense but such as God 
always gives to upright dealings. First, you must 
promise two things, both in your own name and for 
your friends, or, without serving you, we shall only 
injure ourselves!” 

“Name them.” 

“The one is, to be still as these sleeping woods, 
let what will happen, and the other is, to keep the 
place where we shall take you, forever a secret from 
all mortal men.” 

“I will do my utmost to see both these conditions 
fulfilled.” 

“Then follow, for we are losing moments that are 
as precious as the heart’s blood to a stricken deer!” 

Heyward could distinguish the impatient gesture 
of the scout, through the increasing shadows of the 
evening, and he moved in his footsteps, swiftly, to¬ 
ward the place where he had left the remainder of 
his party. When they rejoined the expecting and 
anxious females, he briefly acquainted them with 
the conditions of their new guide, and with the ne¬ 
cessity that existed for their hushing every appre¬ 
hension, in instant and serious exertions. Although 
his alarming communication was not received with¬ 
out much secret terror by the listeners, his earnest 
and impressive manner aided perhaps by the nature 
of the danger, succeeded in bracing their nerves to 
undergo some unlooked-for and unusual trial. Si¬ 
lently, and without a moment’s delay, they permit- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


57 


ted him to assist them from their saddles, when they 
descended quickly to the water’s edge, where the scout 
had collected the rest of the party, more by the 
agency of expressive gestures than by any use ot 
words. 

“What to do with these dumb creatures!” muttered 
the white man, on whom the sole control of their 
future movements appeared to devolve. “It would be 
time lost to cut their throats, and cast them into the 
river; and to leave them here, would be to tell the 
Mingoes that they have not far to seek to find their 
owners!” 

‘Then give them their bridles, and let them range 
the woods!” Heyward ventured to suggest. 

“No. It would be better to mislead the imps, and 
make them believe they must equal a horse’s speed to 
run down their chase. Aye, aye, that will blind their 
fire-balls of 1 eyes! Chingach—Hist! What stirs the 
bush?” 

“The colt.” 

“That colt, at least, must die,” muttered the scout, 
grasping at the mane of the nimble beast, which 
easily eluded his hand. “Uncas, your arrows!” 

“Hold!” exclaimed the proprietor of the condemned 
animal, aloud, without regard to the whispering tones 
used by the others. “Spare the foal of Miriam! it is 
the comely offspring of a faithful dam, and would 
willingly injure naught.” 

“When men struggle for the single life God has 
given them,” said the scout sternly, “even their own 
kind seem no more than the beasts of the wood. If 
you speak again, I shall leave you to the mercy of the 
Maquas! Draw your arrow’s head, Uncas, we have 
no time for second blows.” 

The low, muttering sounds of his threatening voice 
were still audible, when the wounded foal, first rear¬ 
ing on its hinder legs, plunged forward to its knees. 


58 


The Last of the Mohicans 


It was met by Chingachgook, whose knife passed 
across its throat quicker than thought, and then pre- 
eipating the motion of the struggling victim, he 
dashed it into the river, down whose stream it glided 
away, gasping audibly for breath with its ebbing 
life. This deed of apparent cruelty, but of real ne^ 
cessity, fell upon the spirits of the travelers like a 
terrific warning of the peril in which they stood, 
heightened as it was by the calm though steady res¬ 
olution of the actors in the scene. The sisters shud¬ 
dered and clung closer to each other, while Heyward 
instinctively laid his hand on one of the pistols he 
had just drawn from their holsters, as he placed him¬ 
self between his charge and those dense shadows 
that seemed to draw an impenetrable veil before the 
bosom of the forest. 

The Indians, however, hesitated not a moment, but 
taking the bridles, they led the frightened and re¬ 
luctant horses into the bed of the river. 

At a short distance from the shore they turned, and 
were soon concealed by the projection of the bank, 
under the brow of which they moved, in a direction 
opposite to the course of the waters. In the mean¬ 
time, the scout drew a canoe of bark from its place 
of concealment beneath some low bushes, whose 
branches were waving with the eddies of the current, 
into which he silently motioned for the females to 
enter. They complied without hesitation, though 
many a fearful and anxious glance was thrown be¬ 
hind them, toward the thickening gloom, which now 
lay like a dark barrier along the margin of the stream. 

So soon as Cora and Alice were seated, the scout, 
without regarding the element, directed Heyward to 
support one side of the frail vessel, and posting him¬ 
self at the other, they bore it up against the stream, 
followed by the dejected owner of the dead foal. In 
this manner they proceeded for many rods, in a silence 


The Last of the Mohicans 


59 


that was only interrupted by the rippling of the 
water, as its eddies played around them, or the low 
dash made by their own cautious footsteps. Hey¬ 
ward yielded the guidance of the canoe implicitly to 
the scout, who approached or receded from the shore, 
to avoid the fragments of rocks, or deeper parts of 
the river, with a readiness that showed his knowl¬ 
edge of the route they held. Occasionally he would 
stop; and in the midst of a breathing stillness, that 
the dull but increasing roar of the waterfall only 
served to render more impressive, he would listen 
with painful intenseness to catch any living sounds 
that might arise from the slumbering forests. When 
assured that all was still, and unable to detect, even 
by the aid of his practised senses, any sign of ap¬ 
proaching foes, he would deliberately resume his slow 
and guarded progress. At length they reached a 
point in the river where the roving eye of Heyward 
became riveted on a cluster of black objects which 
had collected at a spot where the high bank threw 
a deeper shadow than usual on the dark waters. 
Hesitating to advance, he pointed out the place to 
the attention of his companion. 

“Aye,” returned the composed scout, “the Indians 
have hid the beasts with the judgment of natives! 
Water leaves no trail, and an owl’s eye would be blind¬ 
ed by the darkness of such a hole.” 

The whole party were soon reunited, and another 
consultation was held between the scout and his new 
comrades, during which they, whose fates depended 
on the faith and ingenuity of these unknown forest¬ 
ers, had a little leisure to observe the situation more 
minutely. 

The river was confined between high and cragged 
rocks, one of which impended above the spot where 
the canoe rested. As these, again, were surmounted 
by tall trees, which appeared to totter on the brows 


60 


The Last of the Mohicans 


of the precipice, it gave the stream the appearance 
of running through a deep and narrow dell. All be¬ 
neath the fantastic limbs, and ragged tree-tops, which 
were here and there, dimly painted against the starry 
zenith, lay alike in shadowed obscurity. Behind them, 
the curvature of the banks soon bounded the view, by 
the same dark and wooded outline; but in front, and 
apparently at no great distance, the water seemed 
piled up against the heavens, whence it tumbled into 
caverns, out of which issued those sullen sounds that 
had loaded the evening atmosphere. It seemed, in 
truth, to be a spot devoted to seclusion, and the sis¬ 
ters imbibed a soothing impression of security, 2 
as they gazed upon its romantic, though not unappall¬ 
ing beauties. A general movement among their con¬ 
ductors, however, soon recalled them from a contem¬ 
plation of the wild charms that night had assisted 
to lend the place, to a painful sense of their real 
peril. 

The horses had been secured to some scattered 
shrubs that grew in the fissures of the rocks, where, 
standing in the water, they were left to pass the 
night. The scout directed Heyward and his discon¬ 
solate fellow-travelers to seat themselves in the for¬ 
ward end of the canoe, and took possession of the 
other himself, as erect and steady as if he floated in 
a vessel of much firmer materials. The Indians warily 
retraced their steps towards the place they had left, 
when the scout, placing his pole against a rock, by 
a powerful shove, sent his frail bark directly into 
the center of the turbulent stream. For many min¬ 
utes the struggle between the light bubble in which 
they floated, and the swift current, was severe and 
doubtful. Forbidden to stir even a hand, and almost 
afraid to breathe, lest they expose the frail fabric 
to the fury of the stream, the passengers watched 

2 In the first edition “impression of increased security.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


61 


the glancing waters in feverish suspense. Twenty 
times they thought the whirling eddies were sweeping 
them to destruction, when the master-hand of their 
pilot would bring the bow of the canoe to stem the 
rapid. A long, a vigorous, and, it appeared to the 
females, a desperate effort, closed the struggle . 3 Just 
as Alice veiled her eyes in horror, under the impres¬ 
sion that they were about to be swept within the 
vortex at the foot of the cataract, the canoe floated, 
stationary, at the side of a flat rock, that lay on a 
level with the water. 

“Where are we, and what is next to be done?” 
demanded Heyward, perceiving that the exertions of 
the scout had ceased. 

“You are at the foot of Glenn’s ” 4 returned the other, 
speaking aloud without fear of consequences within 
the roar of the cataract, “and the next thing is to 
make a steady landing, lest the canoe upset, and 
you should go down again the hard road we have 
traveled faster than you came up ; 5 ’tis a hard rift 
to stem, when the river is a little swelled; and five 
is an unnatural number to keep dry, in a hurry-skurry, 
with a little birchen bark and gum*. There, go you 
all on the rock, and I will bring up the Mohicans with 
the venison. A man had better sleep without his scalp 
than famish in the midst of plenty.” 

His passengers gladly complied with these direc- 

3 In the first edition “scene.” 

4 An anachronism. In 1757 the falls had not been given 
this name. They were called Glenn’s from John Glen, 
a merchant of Albany to whom a tract of land on the 
north side of the Hudson river was granted in 1772. The 
name of the falls is now spelled with one n. 

5 In the first edition “came up it.” 

6 The gum was used where the ends of the bark, which 
was peeled from the tree in one piece, were fastened to¬ 
gether. It covered the seams. The bark of the white 
elm tree was used even more commonly than birch bark. 



62 The Last of the Mohicans 

tions. As the last foot touched the rock, the canoe 
whirled from its station, when the tall form of the 
scout was seen for an instant gliding above the waters, 
before it disappeared in the impenetrable dark¬ 
ness that rested on the bed of the river. Left by 
their guide, the travelers remained a few minutes 
in helpless ignorance, afraid even to move along the 
broken rocks, lest a false step should *precipitate them 
down some of the many deep and roaring caverns, 
into which the water seemed to tumble, on every side 
of them. Their suspense, however, was soon relieved; 
for, aided by the skill of the natives, the canoe shot 
back into the eddy, and floated again at the side of 
the low rock, before they thought the scout had even 
time to rejoin his companions. 

“We are now fortified, garrisoned, and provisioned,” 
cried Heyward, cheerfully, “and may set Montcalm 
and his allies at defiance. How, now, my vigilant sen¬ 
tinel, can you see anything of those you call the Iro¬ 
quois on the main land?” 

“I call them Iroquois, because to me every native 
who speaks a foreign tongue is accounted an enemy, 
though he may pretend to serve the king! If Webb 
wants faith and honesty in an Indian, let him bring 
out the tribes of the Delawares, and send these greedy 
and lying Mohawks and Oheidas, with their six na¬ 
tions of varlets, where in nature they belong, among 
the outlandish Frenchmen!” 

“We should then exchange a warlike for a useless 
friend. I have heard that the Delawares have laid 
aside the hatchet, and are content to be called wo¬ 
men.” 

“Aye, shame on the Hollanders 7 and Iroquois, who 
carcumvented them by their deviltries into such a 
treaty! But I have known them for twenty years, 

7 The reader will remember that New York was originally 
a colony of Dutch. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


03 

and will call him a liar that says cowardly blood 
runs in the veins of a Delaware. You have driven 
their tribes from the seashore, and would now believe 
what their enemies say, that you may sleep at night 
upon an easy pillow. No, no; to me, every Indian 
who speaks a foreign tongue is an Iroquois, whether 
the castle 8 of his tribe be in Canada or be in York.” 

Heyward, perceiving that stubborn adherence of 
the scout to the cause of his friends, the Delawares, 
oy Mohicans, for they were branches of the same 
numerous people, was likely to prolong a useless dis¬ 
cussion, changed the subject. 

“Treaty or no treaty, I know full well that your two 
companions are brave and cautious warriors! Have 
they heard or seen anything of our enemies?” 

“An Indian is a mortal to be felt before he is seen,” 
returned the scout, ascending the rock, and throwing 
the deer carelessly down. “I trust to other signs than 
such as come in at the eye, when I am outlying on 
the trail of the Mingoes.” 

“Do your ears tell you that they have traced our 
retreat?” 

“I should be sorry to think they had, though this 
is a spot that stout courage might hold for a smart 
scrimmage. I will not deny, however, but the horses 
cowered when I passed them, as though they scented 
the wolves; and a wolf is a beast that is apt to hover 
about an Indian ambushment, craving the offals of 
the deer the savages kill.” 

“You forget the buck at your feet! or, may we not 
owe their visit to the dead colt? Ha! what noise is 
that?” 

“Poor Miriam!” murmured the stranger. “Thy foal 

8 The principal villages of the Indians are still called 
“castles” by the whites of New York. “Oneida Castle” is 
no more than a scattered hamlet; but the name is in gen¬ 
eral use. [Cooper’s No'te.] 



64 


The Last of the Mohicans 


was foreordained to become a prey to ravenous 
beasts!” Then, suddenly lifting up his voice, amid 
the eternal din of the waters, he sang aloud— 

“First born of Egypt, smite did He, 

Of mankind, and of beast also; 

O, Egypt! wonders sent ’midst thee, 

On Pharaoh and his servants too V' 

“The death of the colt sits heavy on the heart of 
its owner,” said the scout. “But it’s a good sign to 
see a man account upon his dumb friends. He Has 
the religion of the matter, in believing what is to 
happen will happen; and with such consolation, it 
won’t be long afore he submits to the rationality 
of killing a four-footed beast, to save the lives of 
human men 0 . It may be as you say,” he continued, 
reverting to the purport of Heyward’s last remark, 
“and the greater the reason why we should cut our 
steaks, and let the carcass drive down the stream, 
or we shall have the pack howling along the cliffs, 
begrudging every mouthful we swallow. Besides, 
though the Delaware tongue is the same as a book 10 
to the Iroquois, the cunning varlets are quick enough 
at understanding the reason of a wolf’s howl.” 

The scout, whilst making his remarks, was busied 
in collecting certain necessary implements; as he 
concluded, he moved silently by the group of travelers, 
accompanied by the Mohicans, who seemed to com¬ 
prehend his intention with instinctive readiness, when 
the whole three disappeared in succession, seeming 
to vanish against the dark face of a perpendicular 
rock, that rose to the height of a few yards within as 
many feet of the water’s edge. 

9 This pleonastic expression is a favorite with the scout. 

10 That is, unintelligible to the Iroquois. 





CHAPTER VI 


“Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide; 

He wales a portion with judicious care; 

And ‘let us worship God,’ he says with solemn air.” 

—Burns, The Cotter's Saturday Night. 

Heyward and his female companions witnessed 
this mysterious movement with secret uneasiness; 
for, though the conduct of the white man had hitherto 
been above reproach, his rude equipments, blunt ad¬ 
dress, and strong antipathies, together with the char¬ 
acter of his silent associates, were all causes for ex¬ 
citing distrust in minds that had been so recently 
alarmed by Indian treachery. 

The stranger alone disregarded the passing inci¬ 
dents. He seated himself on a projection of the 
rocks, whence he gave no other signs of consciousness 
than by the struggles of his spirit, as manifested in 
frequent and heavy sighs. Smothered voices were 
next heard, as though men called to each other in 
the bowels of the earth, when a sudden light flashed 
upon those without, and laid bare the much-prized 
secret of the place. 

At the further extremity of a narrow, deep cavern 
in the rock, whose length appeared much extended by 
the perspective and the nature of the light by which 
it was seen, was seated the scout, holding a blazing 
knot of pine. The strong glare of the fire fell full 
upon his sturdy, weather-beaten countenance and for¬ 
est attire, lending an air of romantic wildness to the 
aspect of an individual, who, seen by the sober light 
of day, would have exhibited the peculiarities of a 
man remarkable for the strangeness of his dress, 
the iron-like inflexibility of his frame, and the singu¬ 
lar compound of quick, vigilant sagacity, and of ex¬ 
quisite simplicity, that by turns usurped the posses- 
[ 65 ] 


66 


The Last of the Mohicans 


sion of his muscular features. At a little distance in 
advance stood Uncas, his whole person thrown power¬ 
fully into view. The travelers anxiously regarded 
the upright, flexible figure of the young Mohican, 
graceful and unrestrained in the attitudes and move¬ 
ments of nature. Though his person was more than 
usually screened by a green and fringed hunting- 
shirt, like that of the white man, there was no con¬ 
cealment to the dark, glancing, fearless eye, alike 
terrible and calm; the bold outline of his high, 
haughty features, pure in their native red; or to the 
dignified elevation of his receding forehead, together 
with all the finest proportions of a noble head, bared 
to the generous scalping tuft 1 . It was the first op¬ 
portunity possessed by Duncan and his companions 
to view the marked lineaments of either of their 
Indian attendants, and each individual of the party 
felt relieved from a burden of doubt, as the proud 
and determined, though wild expression of the fea¬ 
tures of the young warrior forced itself on their 
notice. They felt it might be a being partially be¬ 
nighted in the vale of ignorance, but it could not be 
one who would willingly devote his rich natural gifts 
to the purpose of wanton treachery. The ingenuous 
Alice gazed at his free air and proud carriage, as 
she would have looked upon some precious relic of 
the Grecian chisel, to which life had been imparted, 
by the intervention of a miracle; while Heyward, 
though accustomed to see the perfection of form 
which abounds among the uncorrupted natives, openly 
expressed his admiration at such an unblemished 
specimen of the noblest proportions of man. 

'Tihe Indian warrior shaves all his head, with the ex¬ 
ception of a single lock on the crown, which he leaves to 
assist his conqueror in removing his scalp; the sole me¬ 
morial of his achievement which the latter can produce. 

[Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


67 


“I could sleep in peace,” whispered Alice in reply, 
“with such a fearless and generous looking youth for 
my sentinel. Surely, Duncan, those cruel murders, 
those terrific scenes of torture, of which we read 
and hear so much, are never acted in the presence of 
such as he!” 

“This, certainly, is a rare and brilliant instance of 
those natural qualities in which these peculiar people 
are said to excel,” he answered. “I agree with you, 
Alice, in thinking that such a front and eye were 
formed rather to intimidate than to deceive; but let 
us not practise a deception on ourselves, by expecting 
any other exhibition of what we esteem virtue, than 
according to the fashion of a savage. As bright ex¬ 
amples of great qualities are but too uncommon 
among Christians, so are they singular and solitary 
with the Indians; though, for the honor of our com¬ 
mon nature, neither are incapable of producing them. 
Let us then hope that this Mohican may not disap¬ 
point our wishes, and prove, what his looks assert 
him to be, a brave and constant friend.” 

“Now Major Heyward speaks as Major Heyward 
should,” murmured Cora. “Who that looks at this 
creature of nature, remembers the shade of his 
skin?” 

A short and apparently an embarrassed silence suc¬ 
ceeded this characteristic remark, which was inter¬ 
rupted by the scout calling to them aloud to enter. 

“This fire begins to show too bright a flame,” he 
continued, as they complied, “and might light the 
Mingoes to our undoing. Uncas, drop the blanket, 
and show the knaves its dark side. This is not such 
a supper as a major of the Royal Americans has a 
right to expect, but I’ve known stout detachments of 
the corps glad to eat their venison raw. and without 


68 


The Last of the Mohicans 


a relish 2 too. Here, you see, we have plenty of salt, 
and can make a quick broil. There’s fresh saxafrax 
boughs for the ladies to sit on, which may not be as 
proud as their my-hog guinea chairs, but which sends 
up a sweeter flavor than the skin of any hog can do, 
be it of Guinea, or be it of any other land. Come, 
friend, don’t be mournful for the colt; ’twas an in¬ 
nocent thing, and had not seen much hardship. Its 
death will save the creatur many a sore back and 
weary foot!” 

Uncas did as the other had directed, and when the 
voice of Hawkeye ceased, the roar of the cataract 
sounded like the rumbling of distant thunder. 

“Are we quite safe in this cavern?” demanded Hey¬ 
ward. “Is there no danger of surprise? A single 
armed man, at its entrance, would hold us at his 
mercy.” 

A spectral-looking figure stalked out of the dark¬ 
ness behind the scout, and seizing a blazing brand, 
held it toward the farther extremity of their place 
of retreat. Alice uttered a faint shriek, and even 
Cora rose to her feet, as the appalling object moved 
into the light; but a single word from Heyward calmed 
them, with the assurance it was only Chingach- 
gook, who, lifting another blanket, discovered that 
the cavern had two outlets. Then, holding the brand, 
he crossed a deep, narrow chasm in the rocks, which 
ran at right angles with the passage they were in, 
but which, unlike that, was open to the heavens, and 

a In vulgar parlance tlie condiments of a repast are called 
by the American “a relish,” substituting the thing for its 
effect. These terms are frequently put in the mouths of 
the speakers, according to their several conditions in life. 
Most of them are of local use, and others quite peculiar 
to the particular class of men to which the character be¬ 
longs. In the present instance, the scout uses the word 
with immediate reference to the salt, with which his own 
party was so fortunate as to be provided. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


69 


entered another cave, answering to the description of 
the first, in every essential particular. 

'‘Such old foxes as Chingachgook and myself are 
not often caught in a burrow with one hole,” said 
Hawkeye, laughing. .“You can easily see the cunning 
of the place—the rock is black limestone, which every¬ 
body knows is soft; it makes no uncomfortable pillow, 
where brush and pine wood is scarce. Well, the fall 
was once a few yards below us, and I dare to say 
was, in its time, as regular and as handsome a sheet 
of water as any along the Hudson. But old age is 
a great injury to good looks, as these sweet 
young ladies have yet to Tarn! The place is sadly 
changed! These rocks are full of cracks, and in 
some places they are softer than at othersome, and 
the water has worked out deep hollows for itself, 
until it has fallen back, aye, some hundred feet, 
breaking here and wearing there, until the falls have 
neither shape nor consistency.” 

“In what part of them are we?” asked Heyward. 

“Why, we are nigh the spot that Providence first 
placed them, but where, it seems, they were too re¬ 
bellious to stay. The rock proved softer on each side 
of us, and so they left the center of the river bare 
and dry, first working out these two little holes for us 
to hide in.” 

“We are then on an island?” 

“Aye! there are falls on two sides of us, and 
the river above and below. If you had daylight it 
would be worth the trouble to step up on the height 
of this rock, and look at the perversity of the water. 
It falls by no rule at all; sometimes it leaps, some¬ 
times it tumbles; there it skips; here it shoots; in 
one place ’tis white as snow, and in another ’tis green 
as grass; hereabouts it pitches into deep hollows, 
that rumble and quake the ’arth; and thereaways it 
ripples and sings like a brook, fashioning whirlpools 


70 


The Last of the Mohicans 


and gullies in the old stone, as if ’twas no harder 
than trodden clay. The whole design of the river 
seems disconcerted. First it runs smoothly, as if 
meaning to go down the descent as things were or¬ 
dered; then it angles about and faces the shores; nor 
are there places wanting where it looks backward, 
as if unwilling to leave the wilderness, to mingle with 
the salt! Aye, lady, the fine cobweb-looking cloth 
you wear at your throat, is coarse, and like a fish-net, 
to little spots I can show you, where the river fabri¬ 
cates all sorts of images, as if, having broke loose 
from order, it would try its hand at everything. 
And yet what does it amount to? After the water 
has been suffered to have its will for a time, like a 
headstrong man, it is gathered together by the hand 
that made it, and a few rods below, you may see it 
all, flowing on steadily towards the sea, as was fore¬ 
ordained from the first foundation of the ’arth!” 

While his auditors received a cheering assurance 
of the security of their place of concealment from 
this untutored description of Glenn’s 3 , they were 
much inclined to judge differently from Hawkeye, of 


3 Glenn’s Falls are on the Hudson, some forty or fifty 
miles above the head of tide, or the place where that river 
becomes navigable for sloops. The description of this 
picturesque and remarkable little cataract, as given by the 
scout, is sufficiently correct, though the application of the 
water to the uses of civilized life has materially injured 
its beauties. The rocky island and the two caverns are 
well known to every traveler, since the former sustains 
a pier of a bridge, which is now thrown across the river, 
immediately above the fall. In explanation of the taste 
of Hawkeye. it should be remembered that men always 
prize that most which is least enjoyed. Thus, in a new 
country, the woods and other objects, which in an old 
country would be maintained at great cost, are got rid 
of simply with a view of “improving,” as it is called. 
[Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


71 


its beauties. But they were not in a situation to 
suffer their thoughts to dwell on the charms of natural 
objects; and, as the scout had not found it necessary 
to cease his culinary labors while he spoke, unless to 
point out, with a broken fork, the direction of some 
particularly obnoxious point in the rebellious stream, 
they now suffered their attention to be drawn to 
the necessary though more vulgar consideration of 
their supper. 

The repast, which was greatly aided by the addi¬ 
tion of a few delicacies that Heyward had the pre¬ 
caution to bring with him when they left their horses, 
was exceedingly refreshing to the wearied party. 
Uncas acted as attendant to the females, performing 
all the little offices within his power, with a mixture 
of dignity and anxious grace, that served to amuse 
Heyward, who well knew that it was an utter innova¬ 
tion on the Indian customs, which forbid the warriors 
to descend to any menial employment, especially in 
favor of their women. As the rights of hospitality 
were, however, considered sacred among them, this 
little departure from the dignity of manhood excited 
no audible comment. Had there been one there suffi¬ 
ciently disengaged to become a close observer, he 
might have fancied that the services of the young 
chief were not entirely impartial; that while he 
tendered to Alice the gourd of sweet water and the 
venison in a trencher, neatly carved from the knot of 
the pepperidge, with sufficient courtesy, in performing 
the same offices to her sister, his dark eye lingered 
on her rich, speaking countenance . 4 Once or twice 
he was compelled to speak, to command the attention 
of those he served. In such cases, he made use of 
English, broken and imperfect, but sufficiently intel- 

4 In the first edition followed by, “with a softness that 
banished the bright gleams of pride that w T ere usually 
there, entirely from their expression/’ 



72 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ligible, and which he rendered so mild and musical, 
by his deep 5 guttural voice, that it never failed to 
cause both ladies to look up in admiration and as¬ 
tonishment. In the course of these civilities, a few 
sentences were exchanged, that served to establish 
the appearance of an amicable intercourse between 
the parties. 

In the meanwhile, the gravity of Chingachgook re¬ 
mained immovable. He had seated himself more with¬ 
in the circle of light, where the frequent uneasy 
glances of his guests were better enabled to separate 
the natural expression of his face from the artificial 
terrors of the war-paint. They found a strong re¬ 
semblance between father and son, with the difference 
that might be expected from age and hardships. The 
fierceness of his countenance now seemed to slumber, 
and in its place was to be seen the quiet, vacant com¬ 
posure which distinguishes an Indian warrior, when 
his faculties are not required for any of the greater 
purposes of his existence. It was, however, easy to 
be seen, by the occasional gleams that shot across 
his swarthy visage, that it was only necessary to 
arouse his passions, in order to give full effect to the 
terrific device which he had adopted to intimidate 
his enemies. On the other hand, the quick roving eye 
of the scout seldom rested. He ate and drank with 
an appetite that no sense of danger could disturb, 
but his vigilance seemed never to desert him. Twenty 
times the calabash or the venison was suspended be¬ 
fore his lips, while his head was turned aside, as 
though he listened to some distant and distrusted 
sounds—a movement that never failed to recall his 
guests from regarding the novelties of their situa¬ 
tion, to a recollection of the alarming reasons that 
had driven them to seek it. As these frequent pauses 

6 The meaning of Indian words is much governed by 
the emphasis and tones. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


73 


were never followed by any remark, the momentary 
uneasiness they created quickly passed away, and 
was for a time forgotten. 

“Come, friend,” said Hawkeye, drawing out a keg 
from beneath a cover of leaves, towards the close of 
the repast, and addressing the stranger who sat at 
his elbow, doing great justice to his culinary skill, 
“try a little spruce; Twill wash away all thoughts of 
the colt, and quicken the life in your bosom. I drink 
to our better friendship, hoping that a little horse¬ 
flesh may leave no heart-burnings atween us. How 
do you name yourself?” 

“Gamut 0 —David Gamut,” returned the singing- 
master, mechanically wiping his mouth, preparatory 
to washing down his sorrows in a powerful draught 
of the woodman’s high flavored and well-laced com¬ 
pound. 

“A very good name,” returned the other, taking 
breath after a draught, whose length announced how 
much he admired his own skill in brewing, “and, 
I dare say, handed down from honest forefathers. 
I’m an admirator of names, though the Christian 
fashions fall far below savage customs in this par¬ 
ticular. The biggest coward I ever knew was called 
Lyon; and his wife, Patience, would scold you out of 
hearing in less time +han a hunted deer would run 
a rod. With an Indian ’tis a matter of conscience; 
what he calls himself he generally is—not that Chin- 
gachgook, which signifies big sarpent, is really a 
snake, big or little; but that he understands the 
windings and turnings of human natur, and is silent, 
and strikes his enemies when they least expect him. 
What may be your calling?” 

s The name may have been suggested by his calling. Sug¬ 
gestive names were in vogue for comic characters in the 
fiction of Cooper’s day. 



74 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“I am an unworthy instructor in the art of psalm¬ 
ody” 

“Anan!” 

“I teach singing to the youths of the Connecticut 
levy.” 7 

“You might be better employed. The young hounds 
go laughing and singing too much already through 
the woods, when they ought not to breathe louder 
than a fox in his cover. Can you use the smooth 
bore, 8 or handle the rifle?” 

“Praised be God, I have never had occasion to 
meddle with murderous implements!” 

“Perhaps you understand the compass, and lay 
down the water-courses and mountains of the wilder¬ 
ness on paper, in order that they who follow may 
find places by their given names?” 

“I practise no such employment.” 

“You have a pair of legs that might make a long 
path seem short! You journey sometimes, I fancy, 
with tidings for the General.” 

“Never, I follow no other than my own high voca- 
cation, which is instruction in sacred music!” 

“’Tis a strange calling!” muttered Hawkeye, with 
an inward laugh, “to go through life, like a catbird, 
mocking all the ups and downs that may happen to 
come out of other men’s throats. Well, friend, I 
suppose it is your gift, and mustn’t be denied any 
more than if ’twas shooting, or some other better 
inclination. Let us hear what you can do in that 
way; ’twill be a friendly manner of saying goodnight, 
for ’tis time that these ladies should be getting 

7 The Connecticut authorities ordered a regiment to be 
raised for service in February, 1757. Part of the regi¬ 
ment commanded by Colonel Phineas Lyman remained 
at Fort Edward till October. David’s coming to the fort 
is explained by his connection with the levy. 

8 Musket. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


75 


strength for a hard and long push, in the pride of 
the morning , 9 afore the Maquas are stirring!” 

“With joyful pleasure do I consent,” said David, 
adjusting his iron-rimmed spectacles, and producing 
his beloved little volume, which he immediately ten¬ 
dered to Alice. “What can be more fitting and con¬ 
solatory, than to offer up evening praise after a day 
of such exceeding jeopardy?” 

Alice smiled; but regarding Heyward, she blushed 
and hesitated. 

“Indulge yourself,” he whispered. “Ought not the 
suggestion of the worthy namesake of the Psalmist 
to have its weight at such a moment?” 

Encouraged by his opinion, Alice did what both 
her pious inclinations and her keen relish for gentle 
sounds, had before so strongly urged upon her. The 
book was opened at a hymn not ill adapted to their 
situation, and in which the poet, no longer goaded by 
his desire to excel the inspired King of Israel, had 
discovered some chastened and respectable powers. 
Cora betrayed a disposition to support her sister, and 
the sacred song proceeded, after the indispensable 
preliminaries of the pitch-pipe and the tune had been 
duly attended to by the methodical David. 

The air was solemn and slow. At times it rose to 
the fullest compass of the rich voices of the sweet 
maidens, who hung over their little book in holy 
excitement, and again it sunk so low that the rushing 
of the waters ran through their melody like a hollow 
accompaniment. The natural taste and true ear of 
David, governed and modified the sounds to suit their 
confined cavern, every crevice and cranny of which 
was filled with the thrilling notes of their flexible 
voices. The Indians riveted their eyes on the rocks, 

“Later editions in Cooperfs lifetime keep “pride” of the 
first edition, else it might he assumed tc he a typographical 
error for “prime.” 



76 


The Last of the Mohicans 


and listened with an attention that seemed to turn 
them into stone. But the scout, who had placed his 
chin in his hand, with an expression of cold indiffer¬ 
ence, gradually suffered his rigid features to relax, 
until, as verse succeeded verse, he felt his iron nature 
subdued, while his recollection was carried back to 
his boyhood, when his ears had been accustomed to 
listen to similar, though far less sweet, sounds of 
praise, in the settlements of the colony. His roving 
eyes began to moisten, and before the hymn was 
ended, large, scalding tears 10 rolled out of fountains 
that had long seemed dry, and followed each other 
down those cheeks that had oftener felt the storms 
of heaven, than any testimonials of weakness. The 
singers were dwelling on one of those low, dying 
chords, which the ear devours with such greedy rap¬ 
ture, as if conscious that it is about to lose them, 
when a cry, that seemed neither human nor earthly, 
rose in the outward air, penetrating not only the 
recesses of the cavern, but to the inmost hearts of 
all who heard it. It was followed by a stillness ap¬ 
parently as deep as if the waters had been checked 
in their furious progress, at such a horrid and un¬ 
usual interruption. 

“What is it?” murmured Alice, after a few mo¬ 
ments of terrible suspense. 

“What is it?” repeated Heyward aloud. 

Neither Hawkeye nor the Indians made any reply. 
They listened, as if expecting the sound would be 
repeated, with a manner that expressed their own 
astonishment. At length they spoke together, earn¬ 
estly, in the Delaware language, when Uncas, passing 
by the inner and most concealed aperture, cautiously 

10 Cooper does not often make his scout surrender to his 
emotions, though “sensibility,” or sentimental cherishing 
of the emotions, was much hi vogue in the literature of 

his time. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


77 


left the cavern. When he had gone, the scout first 
spoke in English. 

“What it is, or what it is not, none here can tell, 
though two of us have ranged the woods for more 
than thirty years. I did believe there was no cry 
that Indian or beast could make, that my ears had 
not heard; but this has proved that I was only a 
vain and conceited mortal.” 

“Was it not, then, the shout the warriors make 
when they wish to intimidate their enemies?” asked 
Cora, who stood drawing her veil about her person, 
with a calmness to which her agitated sister was a 
stranger. 

“No, no. This was bad, and shocking, and had a 
sort of unhuman sound; but when you once hear the 
war-whoop, you will never mistake it for anything 
else! Well, Uncas!” speaking to the young chief as 
he re-entered, “What see you? Do our lights shine 
through the blankets?” 

The answer was short, and apparently decided^, be¬ 
ing given in the same tongue. 

“There is nothing to be seen without,” continued 
Hawkeye, shaking his head in discontent, “and our 
hiding-place is still in darkness! Pass into the other 
cave, you that need it, and seek for sleep. We must 
be afoot long before the sun, and make the most of 
our time to get to Edward, while the Mingoes are tak¬ 
ing their morning nap.” 

Cora set the example- of compliance, with a steadi¬ 
ness that taught the more timid Alice the necessity 
of obedience. Before leaving the place, however, she 
whispered a request to Duncan that he would follow. 
Uncas raised the blanket for their passage, and as 
the sisters turned to thank him for this act of atten¬ 
tion, they saw the scout seated again before the dying 
embers with his face resting on his hands, in a man¬ 
ner which showed how deeply he brooded on the un- 


78 


The Last of the Mohicans 


accountable interruption, which had broken up their 
evening devotions. 

Heyward took with him a blazing knot, which threw 
a dim light through the narrow vista of their new 
apartment. Placing it in a favorable position, he 
joined the females, who now found themselves alone 
with him, for the first time since they had left the 
friendly ramparts of Fort Edward. 

“Leave us not, Duncan,” said Alice. “We cannot 
sleep in such a place as this, with that horrid cry 
still ringing in our ears!” 

“First let us examine into the security of your for¬ 
tress,” he answered, “and then we will speak of rest.” 

He approached the farther end of the cavern, to an 
outlet, which, like the others, was concealed by 
blankets, and, removing the thick screen, breathed 
the fresh and reviving air from the cataract. One 
arm of the river flowed through a deep narrow ravine, 
which its current had worn in the soft rock, directly 
beneath his feet, forming an effectual defense, as he 
believed, against any danger from that quarter; the 
water a few rods above them, plunging, glancing, and 
sweeping along in its most violent and broken manner. 

“Nature has made an impenetrable barrier on this 
side,” he continued, pointing down the perpendicular 
declivity, into the dark current, before he dropped the 
blanket, “and as you know that good men, and true, 
are on guard in front, I see no reason why the advice 
of our honest host should be disregarded. I am cer¬ 
tain Cora will join me in saying that sleep is neces¬ 
sary to you both.” 

“Cora may submit to the justice of your opinion, 
though she cannot put it in practise,” returned the 
elder sister, who had placed herself by the side of 
Alice, on a couch of sassafras. “There would be other 
causes to chase away sleep, though we had been spared 
the shock of this mysterious noise. Ask yourself, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


79 


Heyward, can daughters forget the anxiety fathers 
must endure, whose children lodge, he knows not 
where, or how, in such a wilderness, and in the midst 
of so many perils?” 

“He is a soldier, and knows how to estimate the 
chances of the woods.” 

“He is a father, and cannot deny his nature.” 

“How kind has he ever been to all my follies! how 
tender and indulgent to all my wishes!” sobbed Alice. 
“We have been selfish, sister, in urging our visit at 
such hazard!” 

“I may have been rash in pressing his consent in a 
moment of much embarrassment, but I would have 
proved to him, that however others might neglect him 
in his strait, his children at least were faithful!” 

“When he heard of your arrival at Edward,” said 
Heyward, kindly, “there was a powerful struggle in 
his bosom between fear and love; though the latter, 
heightened, if possible, by so long a separation, quick¬ 
ly prevailed. ‘It is the spirit of my noble-minded 
Cora that leads them, Duncan/ he said, ‘and I will 
not balk it. Would to God that he who holds the 
honor of our royal master in his guardianship would 
show but half her firmness!’” 

“And did he not speak of me, Heyward?” demanded 
Alice, with jealous affection. “Surely, he forgot not 
altogether his little Elsie?” 

“That were impossible,” returned the young man. 
“He called you by a thousand endearing epithets that 
I may not presume to use, but to the justice of which 
I can warmly testify. Once, indeed, he said—” 

Duncan ceased speaking; for while his eyes were 
riveted on those of Alice, who had turned toward him 
with the eagerness of filial affection, to catch his 
words, the same strong horrid cry, as before, filled 
the air, and rendered him mute. A long, breathless 
silence succeeded, during which each looked at the 


80 


The Last of the Mohicans 


others in fearful expectation of hearing the 1 sound re¬ 
peated. At length the blanket was slowly raised, and 
the scout stood in the aperture with a countenance 
whose firmness evidently began to give way, before 
a mystery that seemed to threaten some danger, 
against which all his cunning and experience might 
prove of no avail. 


CHAPTER VII 


“They do not sleep, 

On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 

I see them sit.” 

—Gray, The Bard. 

“ ’Twould be neglecting a warning that is given for 
our good, to lie hid any longer,” said Hawkeye, “when 
such sounds are raised in the forest! These gentle 
ones may keep close, but the Mohicans and I will 
watch upon the rock, where I suppose a major of the 
60th would wish to keep us company.” 

“Is then our danger so pressing?” asked Cora. 

“He who makes strange sounds, and gives thevn out 
for man’s information, alone knows our danger. I 
should think myself wicked unto rebellion against his 
will, was I to burrow with such warnings in the air! 
Even the weak soul, who passes his days in singing, is 
stirred by the cry, and, as he says, is ‘ready to go 
forth to the battle.’ If ’twere only a b?.ttle, it would 
be a thing understood by us all, and easily managed; 
but I have heard that when such shrieks are atween 
heaven an ’arth, it betokens another sort of warfare!” 

“If all our reasons for fear, my friend, are confined 
to such as proceed from supernatural causes, we have 
but little occasion to be alarmed,” continued the un¬ 
disturbed maiden. “Are you certain that our enemies 
have not invented some new and Ingenious method to 
strike us with terror, that their conquest may become 
more easy?” 

“Lady,” returned the scout, solemnly, “I have lis¬ 
tened to all the sounds of the woods for thirty years, 
as a man will listen whose life and death depend so 
often on the quickness of his ears. There is no whine 
of the panther, no whistle of the catbird, 1 nor any 

7 The panther has many different cries and the catbird 
many modulations of its calls. 

[ 81 ] 



82 The Last of the Mohicans 

l 

invention of the devilish Mingoes, that can cheat me! 
I have heard the forest moan like mortal men, in their 
affliction; often, and again, have I listened to the wind 
playing its music in the branches of the girdled trees; 
and I have heard the blazing cracking in the air, like 
the snapping of blazing brush, as it spitted 2 forth 
sparks and forked flames; but never have I thought 
that I heard more than the pleasure of Him who 
sported with the things of his hand. But neither the 
Mohicans, nor I, who am a white man without a cross, 
can explain the cry just heard. We, therefore, believe 
it a sign given for our good.” 

“It is extraordinary!” said Heyward, taking his 
pistols from the place where he had laid them on en¬ 
tering. “Be it a sign of peace or a signal of war, it 
must be looked to. Lead the way, my friend. I fol¬ 
low.” 

On issuing from their place of confinement, the 
whole party instantly experienced a grateful renova¬ 
tion of spirits, by exchanging the pent air of the 
hiding-place for the cool and invigorating atmosphere, 
which played around the whirlpools and pitches of 
the cataract. A heavy evening breeze swept along the 
surface of the river, and seemed to drive the roar of 
the falls into the recesses of their own caverns, 
whence it issued heavily and constant, like thunder 
rumbling beyond the distant hills. The moon had 
risen, and its light was already glancing here and 
there on the waters above them; but the extremity of 
the rock where they stood still lay in shadow. With 
the exception of the sounds produced by the rushing 
waters, and an occasional breathing of the air, as it 
murmured past them in fitful currents, the scene was 

2 “A “spit’’ is a slender stick or skewer. Here the noun is 
made into a verb, past tense “spitted.” The other and 
usual verb “spit” had for its old past tense “spat,” while 
in current usage the past tense and the infinitive are alike. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


83 


as still as night and solitude could make it. In vain 
were the eyes of each individual bent along the op¬ 
posite shores, in quest of some signs of life that 
might explain the nature of the interruption they had 
heard. Their anxious and eager looks were baffled by 
the deceptive light, or rested only on naked rocks, and 
straight and immovable trees. 

“There is nothing to be seen but the gloom and 
quiet of a lovely evening,” whispered Duncan. “How 
much should we prize such a scene, and all this breath¬ 
ing solitude, at any other moment, Cora! Fancy your¬ 
selves in security, and what now, perhaps, increases 
your terror, may be made conducive to enjoyment—” 

“Listen!” interrupted Alice. 

The caution was unnecessary. Once more the same 
sound arose, as if from the bed of the river, and 
having broken out of the narrow bounds of the cliffs, 
was heard undulating through the forest, in distant 
and dying cadences. 

“Can any here give a name to such a cry?” de¬ 
manded Hawkeye, when the last echo was lost in the 
woods. “If so, let him speak. For myself, I judge it 
not to belong to ’arth!” 

“Here, then, is one who can undeceive you,” said 
Duncan. “I know the sound full well, for often have 
I heard it on the field of battle, and in situations 
which are frequent in a soldier's life. ’Tis the hor¬ 
rid shriek that a horse will give in his agony; oftener 
drawn from him in pain, though sometimes in his 
terror . 3 My charger is either a prey to the beasts 
of the forest, or he sees his danger without the pow¬ 
er to avoid it. The sound might deceive me in the 
cavern, but in the open air I know I cannot be wrong.” 

The scout and his companions listened to this sim¬ 
ple explanation, with the interest of men who imbibe 

a Tlie weird cry of a horse when badly injured or in fear 
is said by those who have heard it to be unforgetabie. 



84 


The Last of the Mohicans 


new ideas, at the same time that they get rid of old 
ones, which had proved disagreeable inmates. The 
two latter uttered their usual and expressive exclama¬ 
tion, “Hugh!” as the truth first glanced upon their 
minds, while the former, after a short musing pause, 
took on himself to reply. 

“I cannot deny your words,” he said, “for I am 
little skilled in horses, though born where they abound. 
The wolves must be hovering above their heads on 
the bank, and the timersome creatures are calling on 
man for help, in the best manner they are able. 
Uncas”—he spoke in Delaware—“Uncas, drop down 
in the canoe, and whirl a brand among the pack; or 
fear may do what the wolves can’t get at to perform, 
and leave us without horses in the morning, when we 
shall have so much need to journey swiftly.” 

The young native had already descended to the 
water, to comply, when a long howl was raised on the 
edge of the river, and was borne swiftly off into the 
depths of the forest, as though the beasts, of their 
own accord, were abandoning their prey, in sudden 
terror. Uncas, with instinctive quickness, receded, 
and the three foresters held another of their low, 
earnest conferences. 

“We have been like hunters who have lost the points 
of the heavens, and from whom the sun has been hid 
for days,” said Hawkeye, turning away from his com¬ 
panions. “ Now we begin again to know the signs of 
our course, and the paths are cleared from briers! 
Seat yourselves in the shade which the moon throws 
from yonder beech—’tis thicker than that of the pines 
—and let us wait for that which the Lord may choose 
to send next. Let all your conversation be in whis¬ 
pers; though it would be better, and perhaps, in the 
end, wiser, if each one held discourse with his own 
thoughts, for a time.” 

The manner of the scout was seriously impressive, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


85 


though no longer distinguished by any signs of un¬ 
manly apprehension. It was evident that his momen¬ 
tary weakness had vanished with the explanation of 
a mystery which his own experience had not served 
to fathom; and though he now felt all the realities 
of their actual condition, that he was prepared to 
meet them with the energy of his hardy nature. This 
feeling seemed also common to the natives, who placed 
themselves in positions which commanded a full view 
of both shores, while their own persons were effectu¬ 
ally concealed from observation. In such circum¬ 
stances, common prudence dictated that Heyward and 
his companions should imitate a caution that pro¬ 
ceeded from so intelligent a source. The young man 
drew a pile of the sassafras from the cave, and plac¬ 
ing it in the chasm which separated the two caverns, 
it was occupied by the sisters, who were thus pro¬ 
tected by the rocks from any missiles, while their 
anxiety was relieved by the assurance that no danger 
could approach without a warning. Heyward himself 
was posted at hand, so near that he might communi¬ 
cate with his companions without raising his voice 
to a dangerous elevation, while David, in imitation 
of the woodsmen, bestowed his person in such a man¬ 
ner among the fissures of the rocks, that his ungainly 
limbs were no longer offensive to the eye. 

In this manner hours passed without further inter¬ 
ruption. The moon reached the zenith, and shed its 
mild light perpendicularly on the lovely sight of the 
sisters slumbering peacefully in each other’s arms. 
Duncan cast the wide shawl of Cora before a spec¬ 
tacle he so much loved to contemplate, and then suf¬ 
fered his own head to seek a pillow on the rock. David 
began to utter sounds that would have shocked his 
delicate organs in more wakeful moments; in short, 
all but Hawkeye and the Mohicans lost every idea of 
consciousness, in uncontrollable drowsiness. But the 


86 


The Last of the Mohicans 


watchfulness of these vigilant protectors neither tired 
nor slumbered. Immovable as that rock, of which 
each appeared to form a part, they lay, with their 
eyes roving, without intermission, along the dark 
margin of trees that bounded the adjacent shores of 
the narrow stream. Not a sound escaped them. The 
most subtle examination could not have told they 
breathed. It was evident that this excess of caution 
proceeded from an experience that no subtlety on the 
part of their enemies could deceive. It was, however, 
continued without any apparent consequences, until 
the moon had set, and a pale streak above the tree- 
tops, at the bend of the river a little below, announced 
the approach of day. 

Then, for the first time, Hawkeye was seen to stir. 
He crawled along the rock, and shook Duncan from 
his heavy slumbers. 

“Now is the time to journey,” he whispered. 
“Awake the gentle ones, and be ready to get into the 
canoe when I bring it to the landing place.” 

“Have you had a quiet night?” said Heyward. “For 
myself, I believe sleep has gotten the better of my 
vigilance.” 

“All is yet still as midnight. Be silent, but be 
quick.” 

By this time Duncan was thoroughly awake, and 
he immediately lifted the shawl from the sleeping fair 
ones. The motion caused Cora to raise her hand as if 
to repulse him, while Alice murmured in her soft, 
gentle voice, “No, no, dear father, we were not de¬ 
serted; Duncan was with us.” 

“Yes, sweet innocence,” whispered the delighted 
youth. “Duncan is here, and while life continues, or 
danger remains, he will never quit thee. Cora! Alice! 
awake! The hour has come to move.” 

A loud shriek from the younger of the sisters, and 
the form of the other standing upright before him, 


The Last of the Mohicans 87 

in bewildered horror, was the unexpected answer he 
received. While the words were still on the lips of 
Heyward, there had arisen such a tumult of yells and 
cries, as served to drive the swift currents of his own 
youthful blood back from its bounding course into 
the fountains of his heart. It seemed, for near a 
minute, as if the demons of hell had possessed them¬ 
selves of the air about them, and were venting their 
savage humors in barbarous sounds. The cries came 
from no particular direction, though it was evident 
they filled the woods, and, as the appalled listeners 
easily imagined, the caverns of the falls, the rocks, 
the bed of the river, and the upper air. David raised 
his tall person in the midst of the infernal din, with 
a hand on either ear, exclaiming— 

“Whence comes this discord? Has hell broke loose, 
that man should utter sounds like these?” 

The bright flashes, and the quick reports of a dozen 
rifles, from the opposite banks of the stream, followed 
this incautious exposure of his person, and left the 
unfortunate singing master senseless on that rock 
where he had been so long slumbering. The Mohicans 
boldly sent back the intimidating yell of their enemies, 
who raised a shout of savage triumph at the fall of 
Gamut. The flash of rifles was then quick and close be¬ 
tween them, but either party was too well skilled to 
leave even a limb exposed to the hostile aim. Duncan 
listened with intense anxiety for the strokes of the 
paddle, believing that flight was now their only refuge. 
The river glanced by with its ordinary velocity, but 
the canoe was nowhere to be seen on its dark waters. 
He had just fancied they were cruelly deserted by 
the scout, as a stream of flame issued from the rock 
beneath him, and a fierce yell, blended with a shriek 
of agony, announced that the messenger of death, 
sent from the fatal weapon of Hawkeye, had found a 
victim. At this slight repulse the assailants instant- 


88 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ly withdrew, and gradually the place became as still 
as before the sudden tumult. 

Duncan seized the favorable moment to spring to 
the body of Gamut, which he bore within the shelter 
of the narrow chasm that protected the sisters. In 
another minute the whole party was collected in this 
spot of comparative safety. 

“The poor fellow has saved his scalp,” said Hawk- 
eye, coolly passing his hand over the head of David, 
“but he is a proof that a man may be born with too 
long a tongue! ’Twas downright madness to show six 
feet of flesh and blood, on a naked rock, to the raging 
savages; and I only wonder he has escaped with life.” 

“Is he not dead?” demanded Cora, in a voice whose 
husky tones showed how powerfully natural horror 
struggled with her assumed firmness. “Can we do 
aught to assist the wretched man?” 

“No, no! the life is in his heart yet, and after he 
has slept awhile he will come to himself, and be a 
wiser man for it, till the hour of his real time shall 
come,” returned Hawkeye, casting another oblique 
glance at the insensible body, while he filled his charg¬ 
er with admirable nicety. “Carry him in, Uncas, and 
lay him on the saxafrax. The longer his nap lasts, 
the better it will be for him; as I doubt whether he 
can find a proper cover for such a shape on these 
rocks; and singing won’t do any good with the Iro¬ 
quois.” 

“You believe then the attack will be renewed?” 
asked Heyward. 

“Do I expect a hungry wolf will satisfy his craving 
with a mouthful? They have lost a man, and ’tis 
their fashion, when they meet a loss, and fail in 
the surprise, to fall back: but we shall have them on 
again, with new expedients to circumvent us, and 
master our scalps. Our main hope,” he continued, 
raising his rugged ©©untenanee, across which a shad© 


The Last of the Mohicans 


89 


of anxiety just then passed like a darkening cloud, 
‘‘will be to keep the rock until Munro can send a party 
to our help! God send it may be soon, and under a 
leader that well knows the Indian customs!” 

“You hear our probable fortunes, Cora,” said Dun¬ 
can, “and you know we have everything to hope from 
the anxiety and experience of your father. Come, 
then, with Alice, into this cavern, where you, at least, 
wiS be safe from the murderous rifles of our enemies, 
and where you may bestow a care suited to your gen¬ 
tle natures, on our unfortunate comrade.” 

The sisters followed him into the outer cave, where 
David was beginning, by his signs, to give symptoms 
of returning consciousness, and then, commending the 
wounded man to their attention, he immediately pre¬ 
pared to leave them. 

“Duncan!” said the tremulous voice of Cora, when 
he had reached the mouth of the cavern. He turned 
and beheld the speaker, whose color had changed to 
a deadly paleness, and whose lip quivered, gazing after 
him, with an expression of interest which immediate¬ 
ly recalled him to her side. “Remember, Duncan, how 
necessary your safety is to our own—how you bear a 
father’s sacred trust—how much depends on your dis¬ 
cretion and care—in short,” she added, while the tell¬ 
tale blood stole over her features, crimsoning her 
very temples, “how very deservedly dear you are to 
all of the name of Munro.” 

“If anything could add to my own base love of life.” 
said Heyward, suffering his unconscious eyes to wan¬ 
der to the youthful form of the silent Alice, “it would 
be so kind an assurance. As major of the 60th, our 
honest host will tell you I must take my share of the 
fray. But our task will be easy. It is merely to keep 
these bloodhounds at bay for a few hours,” 

Without waiting for reply, he tore himself from 
the presence of the sisters, and joined the scout and 


90 


The Last of the Mohicans 


his companions, who still lay within the protection 
of the little chasm between the two caves. 

“I tell you, Uncas,” said the former, as Heyward 
joined them, “you are wasteful of your powder, and 
the kick of the rifle disconcerts your aim! Little 
powder, light lead, and a long arm, seldom fail of 
bringing the death screech from a Mingo! At least, 
such has been my experience with the creaturs. Come, 
friends; let us to our covers, for no man can tell when 
or where a Maqua 4 will strike his blow.” 

The Indians silently repaired to their appointed 
stations, which were fissures in the rocks, whence 
they could command the approaches to the foot of the 
falls. In the center of the little island, a few short 
and stunted pines 5 had found root, forming a thicket, 
into which Hawkeye darted with the swiftness of a 
deer, followed by the active Duncan. Here they se¬ 
cured themselves, as well as circumstances would per¬ 
mit, among the shrubs and fragments of stone that 
were scattered about the place. Above them was a 
bare, rounded rock, on each side of which the water 
played its gambols, and plunged into the abysses be¬ 
neath, in the manner already described. As the day 
had now dawned, the opposite shores no longer pre¬ 
sented a confused outline, but they were able to look 
into the woods, and distinguish objects beneath a 
canopy of gloomy pines. 

A long and anxious watch succeeded, but without 
any further evidences of a renewed attack; and Dun¬ 
can began to hope that their fire had proved more 
fatal than was supposed, and that their enemies had 

4 It will be observed that Hawkeye applies different 
names to his enemies. Mingo and Maqua are terms of 
contempt, and Iroquois is a name given by the French. 
The Indians rarely use the same name when different 
tribes speak of each other. [Cooper’s Note.] 

B In the first edition “stinted pines.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


91 


been effectually repulsed. When he ventured to utter 
this impression to his companion, it was met by Hawk- 
eye with an incredulous shake of the head, as he an¬ 
swered— 

“You know not the nature of a Maqua, if you think 
he is so easily beaten back, without a scalp! If there 
was one of the imps yelling this morning, there were 
forty! and they know our number and quality too well 
to give up the chase so soon. Hist! look into the 
water above just where it breaks over the rocks. I 
am no mortal, if the risky devils haven’t swam down 
upon the very pitch, and as bad luck would have it, 
they hit the head of the island! Hist! man, keep 
close! or the hair will be off your crown in the turn¬ 
ing of a knife!” 

Heyward lifted his head from the cover, and beheld 
what he justly considered a prodigy of rashness and 
skill. The river had worn away the edge of the soft 
rock in such a manner as to render its first pitch 
less abrupt and perpendicular than is usual at water¬ 
falls. With no other guide than the ripple of the 
stream, where it met the head of the island, a party 
of their insatiable foes had ventured into the current, 
and swam down upon this point, knowing the ready 
access it would give them, if successful, to their in¬ 
tended victims. As Hawkeye ceased speaking, four 
human heads could be seen peering above a few logs 
of driftwood, that had lodged on these naked rocks, 
and which had probably suggested the idea of the 
practicability of the hazardous undertaking. At the 
next moment, a fifth form was seen floating over the 
green edge of the fall, a little from the true line of 
the island. The savage struggled powerfully to gain 
the point of safety, and, favored by the glancing 
water, he was already stretching forth an arm to 
meet the grasp of his companions, when he shot away 
again with the whirling current, appeared to rise into 


92 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the air, with uplifted arms and staring eyeballs, and 
then fell, with a sullen plunge, into that deep and 
yawning abyss over which he hovered. A single, wild, 
despairing shriek rose from the cavern, above the dull 
roar of the cataract, and all was hushed again as the 
grave. 

The first generous impulse of Duncan, was to rush 
to the rescue of the hapless wretch, but he felt him¬ 
self bound to the spot by the iron grasp of the immov¬ 
able scout. 

“Would ye bring certain death upon us, by telling 
the Mingoes where we lie?” demanded Hawkeye, stern¬ 
ly. “ ’Tis a charge of powder saved, and ammunition 
is as precious now as breath to a worried deer! 
Freshen the priming of your pistols 6 —the mist of the 
falls is apt to dampen the brimstone—and stand firm 
for a close struggle, while I fire on their rush.” 

He placed his finger in his mouth, and drew a long, 
shrill whistle, which was answered from the rocks 
that were guarded by the Mohicans. Duncan caught 
glimpses of heads above the scattered driftwood, as 
this signal rose on the air, but they disappeared 
again as suddenly as they had glanced upon his sight. 
A low, rustling sound next drew his attention behind 
him, and turning his head, he beheld Uncas within a 
few feet, creeping to his side. Hawkeye spoke to him 
in Delaware, when the young chief took his position 
with singular caution and undisturbed coolness. To 
Heyward this was a moment of feverish and impatient 
suspense; though the scout saw fit to select it as a 
fit occasion to read a lecture to his more youthful as¬ 
sociates on the art of using firearms with discretion. 

“Of all we’pons,” he commenced, “the long-barreled, 
true-grooved, soft-metaled rifle is the most dangerous 
in skilful hands, though it wants a strong arm, a 

6 Insert dry powder or combustible material, to insure 
the igniting of the charge. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


93 


quick eye, and great judgment in charging, to put 
forth all its beauties. The gunsmiths can have but 
little insight into their trade, when they make their 
fowling-pieces and short horsemen’s—” 

He was interrupted by the low but expressive 
“Hugh!” of Uncas. 

“I see them, boy, I see them!” continued Hawkeye: 
“They are gathering for their rush, or they would 
keep their dingy backs below the logs. Well, let 
them,” he added, examining his flint. “The leading 
man certainly comes on to his death, though it should 
be Montcalm himself.” 

At that moment the woods were filled with another 
burst of cries, and, at the signal, four savages sprang 
from the cover of the driftwood. Heyward felt a 
burning desire to rush forward to meet them, so in¬ 
tense was the delirious anxiety of the moment, but he 
was restrained by the deliberate examples of the 
scout and Uncas. When their foes, who leaped over 
the black rocks that divided them, with long bounds, 
uttering the wildest yells, were within a few rods, 
the rifle of Hawkeye slowly rose among the shrubs, 
and poured out its fatal contents. The foremost In¬ 
dian bounded like a stricken deer, and fell headlong 
among the clefts of the island. 

“Now, Uncas!” cried the scout, drawing his long 
knife, while his quick eyes began to flash with ardor, 
“take the screeching imp behind; of the other two 
we are sartin!” 

He was obeyed; and but two enemies remained to 
be overcome. Heyward had given one of his pistols 
to Hawkeye, and together they rushed down a little 
declivity towards their foes; they discharged their 
weapons at the same instant, and equally without 
success. 

“I know’d it! and I said it!” muttered the scout, 
whirling the despised little implement over the falls 


94 


The Last of the Mohicans 


with bitter disdain. “Come on, ye bloody minded hell¬ 
hounds! ye meet a man without a cross!” 

The words were barely uttered when he encountered 
a savage of gigantic stature, and of the fiercest mien. 
At the same moment, Duncan found himself engaged 
with the other, in a similar contest of hand to hand. 
With ready skill, Hawkeye and his antagonist each 
grasped that uplifted arm of the other, which held 
the dangerous knife. For near a minute, they stood 
looking one another in the eye and gradually exerting 
the power of their muscles for the mastery. At 
length, the toughened sinews of the white man pre¬ 
vailed over the less practised limbs of the native. The 
arm of the latter slowly gave way before the increas¬ 
ing force of the scout, who, suddenly wresting his 
armed hand from the grasp of the foe, drove the sharp 
weapon through his naked bosom to the heart. In 
the meantime, Heyward had been pressed in a more 
deadly struggle. His slight sword was snapped in the 
first encounter. As he was destitute of any other 
means of defense, his safety now depended entirely 
on bodily strength and resolution. Though deficient 
in neither of these qualities, he had met an enemy 
every way his equal. Happily, he soon succeeded in 
disarming his adversary, whose knife fell on the rock 
at their feet; and from this moment it became a fierce 
struggle who should cast the other over the dizzy 
height into a neighboring cavern of the falls. Every 
successive struggle brought them nearer to the verge, 
where Duncan perceived the final and conquering ef¬ 
fort must be made. Each of the combatants threw 
all his energies into that effort, and the result was 
that both tottered on the brink of the precipice. Hey¬ 
ward felt the grasp of the other at his throat, and 
saw the grim smile the savage gave, under the re¬ 
vengeful hope that he hurried his enemy to a fate 
similar to his own, as he felt his body slowly yield- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


95 


ing to a resistless power, and the young man expe¬ 
rienced the passing agony of such a moment in all its 
horrors. At that instant of extreme danger, a dark 
hand and glancing knife appeared before him; the 
Indian released his hold, as the blood flowed freely 
from the severed tendons of the wrist and while Dun¬ 
can was drawn backward by the saving arm of Uncas, 
his charmed eyes were still riveted on the fierce and 
disappointed countenance of his foe, who fell sullenly 
and disappointed down the irrecoverable precipice. 

“To cover! to cover!” cried Hawkeye, who just then 
had despatched the enemy. “To cover, for your lives! 
The work is but half ended!” 

The young Mohican gave a shout of triumph, and 
followed by Duncan, he glided up the acclivity they 
had descended to the combat, and sought the friend¬ 
ly shelter of the rocks and shrubs. 


CHAPTER VIII 


“They linger yet, 

Avengers of their native land.” 

—Gray, The Bard. 

The warning call of the scout was not uttered with¬ 
out occasion. During the occurrence of the deadly 
encounter just related, the roar of the falls was un¬ 
broken by any human sound whatever. It would 
seem that interest in the result had kept the natives, 
on the opposite shores, in breathless suspense, while 
the quick evolutions and swift changes in the posi¬ 
tions of the combatants effectually prevented a fire, 
that might prove dangerous alike to friend and en 
emy. But the moment the struggle was decided, a 
yell arose, as fierce and savage as wild and revenge 
ful passions could throw into the air. It was fol¬ 
lowed by the swift flashes of the rifles, which sent 
their leaden messengers across the rocks in volleys, as 
though the assailants would pour out their impotent 
fury on the insensible scene of the fatal contest, 

A steady, though deliberate return was made from 
the rifle of Chingachgook, who had maintained his 
post throughout the fray with unmoved resolution. 
When the triumphant shout of Uncas was borne to 
his ears, the gratified father had raised his voice in 
a single responsive cry, after which his busy piece 
alone proved that he still guarded his pass with un¬ 
wearied diligence. In this manner many minutes flew 
by with the swiftness of thought; the rifles of the as¬ 
sailants speaking, at times, in rattling volleys, and at 
others, in occasional, scattering shots. Though the 
rock, the trees, and the shrubs, were cut and torn in a 
hundred places around the besieged, their cover was 
so close, and so rigidly maintained, that as yet, David 
had been the only sufferer in their little band. 

[ 96 ] 


The Last of the Mohicans 


97 


“Let them burn their powder,” said the deliberate 
scout, while bullet after bullet whizzed by the place 
where he so securely lay. “There will be a fine gath¬ 
ering of lead when it is over, and I fancy the imps 
will tire of the sport afore these old stones cry out 
for mercy! Uncas, boy, you waste the kernals by 
overcharging; and a kicking rifle never carries a true 
bullet. I told you to take that loping miscreant under 
the line of white paint; now, if your bullet went a 
hair’s breadth, it went two inches above it. The life 
lies low in a Mingo, and humanity teaches us to make 
a quick end of the sarpenta.” 

A quiet smile lighted the haughty features of the 
young Mohican, betraying his knowledge of the Eng¬ 
lish language, as well as of the other’s meaning; but 
he suffered it to pass away without vindication or 
reply. 

“I cannot permit you to accuse Uncas of want of 
judgment or of skill,” said Duncan. “He saved my 
life in the coolest and readiest manner, and he has 
made a friend who never will require to be reminded 
of the debt he owes.” 

Uncas partly raised his body, and offered his hand 
to the grasp of Heyward. During this act of friend¬ 
ship, the two young men exchanged looks of intelli¬ 
gence which caused Duncan to forget the character 
and condition of his wild associate. In the mean¬ 
while, HaWkeye, who looked on this burst of youth¬ 
ful feeling with a cool but kind regard, made the fol¬ 
lowing reply— 

“Life is an obligation which friends often owe each 
other in the wilderness. I dare say I may have served 
Uncas some such turn myself before now; and I very 
well remember that he has stood between me and 
death five different times: three times from the Min- 
goes, once in crossing Horican, and—” 

“That bullet was better aimed than common!” ex- 


98 


The Last of the Mohicans 


claimed Duncan, involuntarily shrinking from a shot 
which struck the rock at his side with a sharp re¬ 
bound. 

Hawkeye laid his hand on the shapeless metal, and 
shook his head, as he examined it, saying, “Falling 
lead is never flattened! Had it come from the clouds 
this might have happened.” 

But the rifle of Uncas was deliberately raised 
toward the heavens, directing the eyes of his com¬ 
panions to a point, where the mystery was immediate¬ 
ly explained. A ragged oak grew on the right bank 
of the river, nearly opposite to their position, which, 
seeking the freedom of the open space, had inclined 
so far forward that its upper branches overhung 
that arm of the stream which flowed nearest to its 
own shore. Among the topmost leaves, which scant¬ 
ily concealed the gnarled and stunted limbs, a savage 
was nestled, partly concealed by the trunk of the 
tree, and partly exposed, as though looking down 
upon them to ascertain the effect produced by his 
treacherous aim. 

“These devils will scale heaven to circumvent us 
to our ruin/' said Hawkeye. “Keep him in play, boy, 
until I can bring ‘Killdeer’ to bear, when we will try 
his metal on each side of the tree at once.” 

Uncas delayed his fire until the scout uttered the 
word. The rifles flashed, the leaves and bark of the 
oak flew into the air, and were scattered by the wind, 
but the Indian answered their assault by a taunting 
laugh, sending down upon them another bullet in re¬ 
turn, that struck the cap of Hawkeye from his head. 
Once more the savage yells burst out of the woods, 
and the leaden hail whistled above the heads of the 
besieged, as if to confine them to a place where they 
might become easy victims to the enterprise of the 
warrior who had mounted the tree. 

“This must be looked to!” said the scout, glancing 


The Last of the Mohicans 


99 


about him with an anxious eye. “Uncas, call up your 
father. We have need of all our we’pons to bring 
the cunning varmint from his roost.” 

The signal was instantly given; and, before Hawk- 
eye had reloaded his rifle, they were joined by Chin- 
gachgook. When his son pointed out to the experi¬ 
enced warrior the situation of their dangerous enemy, 
the usual exclamatory “Hugh!” burst from his lips; 
after which no further expression of surprise or 
alarm was suffered to escape him. Hawkeye and the 
Mohicans conversed earnestly together in Delaware 
for a few moments, when each quietly took his post, 
in order to execute the plan they had speedily devised. 

The warrior in the oak had maintained a quick, 
though ineffectual fire, from the moment of 
discovery. But his aim was interrupted by the vig¬ 
ilance of his enemies, whose rifles instantaneously 
bore on any part of his person that was left exposed. 
Still his bullets fell in the center of the crouching 
party. The clothes of Heyward, which rendered him 
peculiarly conspicuous, were repeatedly cut, and once 
blood was drawn from a slight wound in his arm. 

At length, emboldened by the long and patient 
watchfulness of his enemies, the Huron attempted 
a better and more fatal aim. The quick eye of the 
Mohicans caught the dark line of his lower limbs in¬ 
cautiously exposed through the thin foliage, a few 
inches from the trunk of the tree. Their rifles made 
a common report, when, sinking on his wounded limb, 
part of the body of the savage came into view. Swift 
as thought, Hawkeye seized the advantage and dis¬ 
charged his fatal weapon into the top of the oak. 
The leaves were unusually agitated; the dangerous 
rifle fell from its commanding elevation, and after 
a few moments of vain struggling, the form of the 
savage was seen swinging in the wind, while he 



100 


The Last of the Mohicans 


grasped a ragged and naked branch of the tree, with 
his hands clenched in desperation. 

“Give him, in pity, give him the contents of another 
rifle,” cried Duncan, turning away his eyes in horror 
from the spectacle of a fellow creature in such awful 
jeopardy. 

“Not a karnal!” exclaimed the obdurate Hawkeye. 
“His death is certain, and we have no powder to spare, 
for Indian fights sometimes last for days. ’Tis their 
scalps or ours!—and God, who made us, has put into 
our natures the craving after life!” 

Against this stern and unyielding morality, sup¬ 
ported, as it was, by such visible policy, there was 
no appeal. From that moment the yells in the forest 
once more ceased, the fire was suffered to decline, and 
all eyes, those of friends, as well as enemies, became 
fixed on the hopeless condition of the wretch who 
was dangling between heaven and earth. The body 
yielded to the currents of air, and though no murmur 
or groan escaped the victim, there were instants 
when he grimly faced his foes, and the anguish of 
cold despair might be traced through the intervening 
distance, in possession of his swarthy lineaments. 
Three several times the scout raised his piece in 
mercy, and as often, prudence getting the better of 
his intention, it was again silently lowered. At 
length one hand of the Huron lost its hold, and dropped 
exhausted at his side. A desperate and fruitless 
struggle to recover the branch succeeded, and then 
the savage was seen for a fleeting instant, grasping 
wildly at the empty air. The lightning is not quicker 
than was the flame from the rifle of Hawkeye; the 
limbs of the victim trembled and contracted, the 
head fell to the bosom, and the body parted the foam¬ 
ing waters, like lead, when the element closed above 
it in its ceaseless velocity, and every vestige of the 
unhappy Huron was lost forever. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


101 


No shout of triumph succeeded this important ad¬ 
vantage, but the Mohicans gazed at each other in 
silent horror. A single yell burst from the woods, 
and all was again still. Hawkeye, who alone appeared 
to reason the occasion, shook his head, at his own 
momentary weakness, even uttering his self-disap¬ 
probation aloud. 

“ ’Twas the last charge in my horn, and the last 
bullet in my pouch 1 , and ’twas the act of a boy!” he 
said. “What mattered it whether he struck the rock 
living or dead? Feeling would soon be over. Uncas, 
lad, go down to the canoe, and bring up the big horn. 
It is all the powder we have left, and we shall need 
it to the last grain, or I am ignorant of Mingo 
natur.” 

The young Mohican instantly complied, leaving the 
scout turning over the useless contents of his pouch, 
and shaking the empty horn with renewed discontent. 
From this unsatisfactory examination, however, he 
was soon called by a loud and piercing exclamation 
from Uncas, that sounded even to the unpractised 
ears of Duncan, as the signal of some new and unex¬ 
pected calamity. Every thought filled with appre¬ 
hension for the precious treasure he had concealed 
in the cavern, the young man started to his feet, 
totally regardless of the hazard he incurred by such 
exposure. As if actuated by a common impulse, his 
movement was imitated by his companions, and, to¬ 
gether they rushed down the pass to the friendly 
chasm, with a rapidity that rendered the scattering 
fire of their enemies perfectly harmless. The un¬ 
wonted cry had brought the sisters, together with 
the wounded David, from their place of refuge; and 
the whole party, at a single glance, was made ac¬ 
quainted with the nature of the disaster that had 

J It is unlike the scout to neglect to note, until the last 
moment, that he was down to his last bullet and charge. 



102 


The Last of the Mohicans 


disturbed even the practised stoicism of their youth¬ 
ful Indian protector. 

At a short distance from the rock, their little bark 
was to be seen floating across the eddy, toward the 
swift current of the river, in a manner which proved 
that its course was directed by some hidden agent. 
The instant this unwelcome sight caught • the eye of 
the scout, his rifle was leveled as by instinct, but 
the barrel gave no answer to the bright sparks of 
the flint. 

“ ’Tis too late, ’tis too late!” Hawkeye exclaimed, 
dropping the useless piece in bitter disappointment. 
“The miscreant has struck the rapid; and had we 
powder, it could hardly send the lead swifter than he 
now goes!” 

The adventurous Huron raised his head above the 
shelter of the canoe, and while it glided swiftly down 
the stream, he waved his hand, and gave forth the 
shout which was the known signal of success. His 
cry was answered by a yell and a laugh from the 
woods, as tauntingly exulting as if fifty demons were 
uttering their blasphemies at the fall of some Chris¬ 
tian soul. 

“Well may you laugh, ye children of the devil!” 
said the scout, seating himself on a projection of 
the rock, and suffering his gun to fall neglected at 
his feet, “for the three quickest and surest rifles in 
these woods are no better than so many stalks of 
mullein, or the last year’s horns of a buck!” 

“What is to be done?” demanded Duncan, losing 
the first feeling of disappointment in a more manly 
desire for exertion. “What will become of us?” 

Hawkeye made no other reply than by passing his 
finger around the crown of his head, in a manner so 
significant, that none who witnessed the action could 
mistake its meaning. 

“Surely, surely, our case is not so desperate!” ex- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


103 


claimed the youth. “The Hurons are not here. We 
may make good the caverns. We may oppose their 
landing.” 

“With what?” coolly demanded the scout. “The 
arrows of Uncas, or such tears as women shed! No, 
no; you are young, and rich, and have friends, and 
at such an age I know it is hard to die. But,” glanc¬ 
ing his eyes at the Mohicans, “let us remember we 
are men without a cross, and let us teach these natives 
of. the forest that white blood can run as freely as 
red, when the appointed hour is come.” 

Duncan turned quickly in the direction indicated 
by the other’s eyes, and read a confirmation of his 
worst apprehensions in the conduct of the Indians. 
Chingachgook, placing himself in a dignified posture 
on another fragment of the rock, had already laid 
aside his knife and tomahawk, and was in the act 
of taking the eagle’s plume from his head, and smooth¬ 
ing the solitary tuft of hair in readiness to perform 
its last and revolting office. His countenance was 
composed, though thoughtful, while his dark gleaming 
eyes were gradually losing the fierceness of the com¬ 
bat in an expression better suited to the change he ex¬ 
pected, momentarily, to undergo. 

“Our case is not, cannot be so hopeless!” said Dun¬ 
can. “Even at this very moment succor may be at 
hand. I see no enemies! They have sickened of 
the struggle, in which they risk so much with so 
little prospect of gain.” 

“It may be a minute, or it may be an hour, afore 
the wily sarpents steal upon us, and it is quite in 
natur for them to be lying within hearing at this 
very moment,” said Hawkeye. “But come they will, 
and in such a fashion as will leave us nothing to 
hope. Chingachgook,’’—he spoke in Delaware—“my 
brother, we have fought our last battle together, and 
the Maquas will triumph in the death of the sage 


104 


The Last of the Mohicans 


man of the Mohicans, and of the pale-face, whose 
eyes can make night as day, and level the clouds to 
the mists of the springs!” 

“Let the Mingo women go weep over their slain!” 
returned the Indian with his characteristic pride and 
unmoved firmness. “The great snake of the Mohicans 
has coiled himself in their wigwams, and has poisoned 
their triumph with the wailings of children whose 
fathers have not returned! Eleven warriors lie hid 
from the graves of their tribes, since the snows have 
melted, and none will tell where to find them, when 
the tongue of Chingachgook shall be silent. Let them 
draw the sharpest knife, and whirl the swiftest toma¬ 
hawk, for their bitterest enemy is in their hands. 
Uncas, my boy, topmost branch of a noble trunk, call 
on the cowards to hasten, or their hearts will soften, 
and they will change to women!” 

“They look among the fishes for their dead!” re¬ 
turned the low, soft voice of the youthful chieftain. 
“The Hurons float with the slimy eels! They drop 
from the oaks like fruit that is ready to be eaten! 
and the Delawares laugh!” 

“Aye, aye,” muttered the scout, who had listened 
to this peculiar burst of the natives with deep at¬ 
tention. “They have warmed their Indian feelings, 
and they’ll soon provoke the Maquas to give them a 
speedy end. As for me, who am of the whole blood 
of the whites, it is befitting that I should die as be¬ 
comes my color, with no words of scoffing in my 
mouth, and without bitterness at the heart!” 

“Why die at all!” said Cora, advancing from the 
place where natural horror had, until this moment, 
held her riveted to the rock. “The path is open on 
every side. Fly, then, to the woods, and call on God 
for succor. Go, brave men, we owe you too much al¬ 
ready. Let us no longer involve you in our hapless 
fortunes!” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


105 


“You but little know the craft of the Iroquois, lady, 
if you judge they have left the path open to the 
woods!” returned Hawkeye, who, however, imme¬ 
diately added in his simplicity. “The down-stream 
current, it is certain, might soon sweep us beyond the 
reach of their rifles or the sound of their voices.” 

“Then try the river. Why linger to add to the num¬ 
ber of victims of our merciless enemies?” 

“Why,” returned the scout, looking about him 
proudly, “because it is better for a man to die at 
peace with himself than to live haunted by an evil 
conscience. What answer could we give Munro, when 
he asked us where and how we left his children?” 

“Go to him, and say, that you left them with a mes¬ 
sage to hasten to their aid,” returned Cora, advanc¬ 
ing nigher to the scout, in her generous ardor, “that 
the Hurons bear them into the northern wilds, but 
that by vigilance and speed they may yet be rescued; 
and if, after all, it should please Heaven that his as¬ 
sistance come too late, bear to him,” she continued, 
the firm tones of her voice gradually lowering, until 
they seemed nearly choked, “the love, the blessing, 
the final prayers of his daughters, and bid him not 
to mourn their early fate, but to look forward with 
humble confidence to the Christian’s goal to meet his 
children.” 

The hard weatherbeaten features of the scout be¬ 
gan sensibly to work, as he listened, and when she 
had ended, he dropped his chin to his hand, like a man 
musing profoundly on the nature of her proposal. 

“There is reason in her words!” at length broke 
from his compressed and trembling lips. “Aye, and 
they bear the spirit of Christianity. What might 
be right and proper in a red-skin, may be sinful in a 
man who has not even a cross in blood to plead for 
his ignorance. Chingachgook! Uncas! hear you the 
talk of the dark-eyed woman!” 


106 


The Last of the Mohicans 


He now spoke in Delaware to his companions, and 
his address, though calm and deliberate, seemed very 
decided. The elder Mohican heard him with deep 
gravity, and appeared to ponder on his words, as 
though he felt the importance of their import. After 
a moment of hesitation, he waved his hand in assent, 
and uttered the English word “good,” with the pe¬ 
culiar emphasis of his people. Then, replacing his 
knife and tomahawk in his girdle, the warrior moved 
silently to the edge of the rock most concealed from 
the hostile banks of the river. Here he paused a 
moment, pointed significantly to the woods below, 
and saying a few words in his own language, as if 
indicating his intended route, he dropped into the 
water, and sunk from before the eyes of the anxious 
witnesses of his movement. 

The scout delayed his departure to speak to the 
generous maiden, whose breathing became lighter as 
she saw the success of her remonstrance. 

“Wisdom is sometimes given to the young, as well 
as the old,” he said, “and what you have spoken is 
wise, not to call it by a better word. If you are 
led into the woods, that is, such of you as may be 
spared for a while, break the twigs on the bushes 
as you pass, and make the marks of your trail as 
broad as you can, when, if mortal eyes can see them, 
depend on having a friend who will follow to the 
ends of the ’arth afore he desarts you.” 

He gave Cora an affectionate shake of the hand, 
lifted his rifle, and after regarding it a moment with 
melancholy solicitude, laid it carefully aside, and de¬ 
scended to the place where Chingachgook had just dis¬ 
appeared. For an instant he hung suspended by the 
rock, and looking about him, with a countenance of 
peculiar care, he added, bitterly, “Had the powder held 
out, this disgrace could never have befallen!” Then, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


107 


loosening his hold, the water closed over his head, 
and he also became lost to view. 

All eyes were now turned on Uncas, who stood 
leaning against the ragged rock, in immovable com¬ 
posure. After waiting a short time, Cora, pointed 
down the river, and said: 

“Your friends have not been seen, and are now, 
most probably, in safety. Is it not time for you to 
follow?’’ 

“Uncas will stay,” the young Mohican calmly an¬ 
swered in English. 

“To increase the horror of our capture, and dimin¬ 
ish the chances of our release! Go, generous young 
man,” Cora continued, lowering her eyes under the 
gaze of the Mohican, and perhaps, with an intuitive 
consciousness of her power, “go to my father, as I 
have said, and be the most confidential of my mes¬ 
sengers. Tell him to trust you with the means to 
buy the freedom of his daughters. Go! ’Tis my 
wish; ’tis my prayer, that you will go!” 

The settled, calm look of the young chief changed 
to an expression of gloom, but he no longer hesitated. 
With a noiseless step he crossed the rock, and dropped 
into the troubled stream. Hardly a breath was drawn 
by those he left behind, until they caught a glimpse 
of his head emerging for air, far down the current, 
when he again sank, and was seen no more. 

These sudden and apparently successful movements 
had all taken place in a few minutes of that time 
which had now become so precious. After a last look 
at Uncas, Cora turned, and with quivering lip, ad¬ 
dressed herself to Heyward— 

“I have heard of your boasted skill in the water, 
too, Duncan,” she said. “Follow, then, the wise ex¬ 
ample set by these simple and faithful beings.” 

“Is such the faith that Cora Munro would exact 


108 


The Last of the Mohicans 



from her protector?” said the young man, smiling 
mournfully, but with bitterness. 

“This is not a time for idle subtleties and false opin¬ 
ions,” she answered, “but a moment when every duty 
should be equally considered. To us you can be of no 
further service here, but your precious life may be 
saved for other and nearer friends.” 

He made no reply, though his eyes fell wistfully on 
the beautiful form of Alice, who was clinging to his 
arm with the dependency of an infant. 

“Consider,” qontinued Cora, after a pause, during 
which she seemed to struggle with a pang even more 
acute than any that her fears had excited, “that the 
worst to us can be but death; a tribute that all must 
pay at the good time of God’s appointment.” 

“There are evils worse than death,” said Duncan, 
speaking hoarsely, and as if fretful at her impor¬ 
tunity, “but which the presence of one who would 
die in your behalf may avert.” 

Cora ceased her entreaties; and, veiling her face 
in her shawl, drew the nearly insensible Alice after 
her into the deepest recess of the inner cavern. 



CHAPTER IX 


“Be gay securely; 

Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the tim’rous clouds, 
That hang on thy clear brow.” 

—'Gray, Death of Agrippina , I, il. 

The sudden and almost magical change, from the 
stirring incidents of the combat to the stillness that 
now reigned around him, acted on the heated imag¬ 
ination of Heyward like some exciting dream. While 
all the images and events he had witnessed remained 
deeply impressed on his memory, he felt a difficulty 
in persuading himself of their truth. Still ignor¬ 
ant of the fate of those who had trusted to the aid 
of the swift current, he at first listened intently to 
any signal, or sounds of alarm, which might an¬ 
nounce the good or evil fortune of their hazardous 
undertaking. His attention was, however, bestowed 
in vain; for, with the disappearance of Uncas, every 
sign of the adventurers had been lost, leaving him 
in total uncertainty of their subsequent fate. 

In a moment of such painful doubt, Duncan did 
not hesitate to look about him, without consulting 
that protection from the rocks which just before had 
been so necessary to his safety. Every effort, how¬ 
ever, to detect the least evidence of the approach of 
their hidden enemies, was as fruitless as the inquiry 
after his late companions. The wooded banks of the 
river seemed again deserted by everything posses¬ 
sing animal life. The uproar which had so lately 
echoed through the vaults of the forest was gone, 
leaving the rush of the waters to swell and sink on 
the currents of the air, in the unmingled sweetness 
of nature. A fish-hawk, who , 1 secure on the topmost 

"Better “fisli-hawk that” or “which.” 

[ 109 ] 



110 


The Last of the Mohicans 


branches of a dead pine, had been a distant spec¬ 
tator of the fray, now stooped from his high and 
jagged perch, and soared, in wide sweeps, above 
his prey; while a jay, whose noisy voice had been 
stilled by the hoarser cries of the savages, ventured 
again to open his discordant throat, as though once 
more left in undisturbed possession of his wild do¬ 
mains. Duncan caught from these natural accom¬ 
paniments of the solitary scene a glimmering of 
hope, and he began to rally his faculties to renewed 
exertions, with something like a reviving confidence 
of success. 

“The Hurons are not to be seen,” he said, ad¬ 
dressing David, who had by no means recovered 
from the effects of the stunning blow he had re¬ 
ceived. “Let us conceal ouhselves in the cavern, 
and trust the rest to Providence.” 

“1 remember to have united with two comely 
maidens, in lifting up our voices in praise and 
thanksgiving,” returned the bewildered singing- 
master, “since which time I have been visited by a 
heavy judgment for my sins. I have been mocked 
with the likeness of sleep, while sounds of discord 
have rent my ears, such as might manifest the full¬ 
ness of time, and that nature had forgotten her har¬ 
mony.” 

“Poor fellow! thine own period was, in truth, 
near its accomplishment! But arouse, and come with 
me. I will lead you where all other sounds but those 
of your own psalmody shall be excluded.” 

“There is melody in the fall of the cataract, and 
the rushing of many waters is sweet to the senses!” 
said David, pressing his hand confusedly on his 
brow. “Is not the air yet filled with shrieks and 
cries, as though the departed spirits of the 
damned—” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


111 


“Not now, not now,” interrupted! the impatient 
Heyward. “They have ceased, and they who raised 
them, I trust in God, they are gone too! Everything 
but the water is still and at peace. In, then, where 
you may create those sounds you love so well to 
hear.” 

David smiled sadly, though not without a mo¬ 
mentary gleam of pleasure, at this allusion to his 
beloved vocation. He no longer hesitated to be led to 
a spot which promised such unalloyed gratification 
to his wearied senses; and, leaning on the arm of 
his companion, he entered the narrow mouth of the 
cavern. Duncan seized a pile of the sassafras, which 
he drew before the passage, studiously concealing 
every appearance of an aperture. Within this frag¬ 
ile barrier he arranged the blankets abandoned by 
the foresters, darkening the inner extremity of the 
cavern, while its outer received a chastened light 
from the narrow ravine, through which one arm of 
the river rushed, to form the junction with its sister 
branch, a few rods below. 

“I like not that principle of the natives, which 
teaches them to submit without a struggle, in emer¬ 
gencies that appear desperate,” he said, while busied 
in this employment: “Our own maxim, which says, 
‘while life remains there is hope,’ is more consoling, 
and better suited to a soldier’s temperament. To 
you, Cora, I will urge no words of idle encourage¬ 
ment; your own fortitude, and undisturbed reason, 
will teach you all that may become your sex; but 
cannot we dry the tears of that trembling weeper in 
your bosom?” 

“I am calmer, Duncan,” said Alice, raising her¬ 
self from the arms of her sister, and forcing an ap¬ 
pearance of composure through her tears, “much 
calmer, now. Surely in this hidden spot, we are 


112 


The Last of the Mohicans 


safe, we are secret, free from injury. We will hope 
everything from those generous men, who have 
risked so much already in our behalf.” 

“Now does our gentle Alice speak like a daughter 
of Munro!” said Heyward, pausing to press her 
hand as he passed towards the outer entrance of the 
cavern. “With two such examples of courage before 
him, a man would be ashamed to prove other than a 
hero.” He then seated himself in the center of the 
cavern, grasping his remaining pistol with a hand 
firmly clenched, while his contracted and frowning 
eye announced the sullen desperation of his purpose. 
“The Hurons, if they come, may not gain our position 
so easily as they think,” he lowly muttered; and, 
dropping his head back against the rock, he seemed 
to await the result in patience, though his gaze was 
unceasingly bent on the open avenue to their place 
of retreat. 

With the last sound of his voice, a deep, a long, 
and almost breathless silence succeeded. The fresh 
air of the morning had penetrated the recess, and its 
influence was gradually felt on the spirits of its in¬ 
mates. As minute after minute passed by, leaving 
them in undisturbed security, the insinuating feeling 
of hope was gradually gaining possession of every 
bosom, though each one felt reluctant to give utter¬ 
ance t© expectations that the next moment might so 
fearfully destroy. 

David alone formed an exception to these varying 
emotions. A gleam of light from the opening crossed 
his wan countenance, and fell upon the pages of the 
little volume, whose leaves he was again occupied in 
turning, as if searching for some song more fitted 
to their condition than any that had yet met his eye. 
He was, most probably, acting all the time under a 
confused recollection of the promised consolation of 
Duncan. At length, it would seem, his patient in- 


The Last of the Mohicans 113 

dustry found its reward; for, without explanation 
or apology, he pronounced aloud the words “Isle of 
Wight,”' drew a long, sweet sound from his pitch- 
pipe, and then ran through the preliminary modula¬ 
tions of the air whose name he had just mentioned, 
with the sweeter tones of his own musical voice. 

“May not this prove dangerous?” asked Cora, glanc¬ 
ing her dark eye at Major Heyward. 

“Poor fellow! his voice is too feeble to be heard 
above the din of the falls,” was the answer. “Be¬ 
sides, the cavern will prove his friend. Let him in¬ 
dulge his passion since it may be done without haz¬ 
ard.” 

“Isle of Wight!” repeated David, looking about him 
with that dignity with which he had long been wont 
to silence the whispering echoes of his school. “ ’Tis 
a brave tune, and set to solemn words! Let it be 
sung with meet respect!” 

After allowing a moment of stillness to enforce his 
discipline, the voice of the singer was heard, in low. 
murmuring syllables, gradually stealing on the ear, 
until it filled the narrow vault with sounds rendered 
trebly thrilling by the feeble and tremulous utter¬ 
ance produced by his debility. The melody, which 
no weakness could destroy, gradually wrought its 
sweet influence on the senses of those who heard it. 
It even prevailed over the miserable travesty of the 
song of David, which, after so much diligence, the 
singer had selected from a volume of similar effu¬ 
sions, and caused the sense to be forgotten in the in¬ 
sinuating harmony of the sounds. Alice unconscious¬ 
ly dried her tears, and bent her melting eyes on 
the pallid features of Gamut, with an expression of 
chastened delight, that she neither affected, nor 
wished to conceal. Cora bestowed an approving 


’See II, note 17. 



114 


The Last of the Mohicans 


smile on the pious efforts of the namesake of the 
Jewish prince, and Heyward soon turned his steady, 
stern look from the outlet of the cavern, to fasten it, 
with a milder character on the face of David, or to 
meet the wandering beams which at moments strayed 
from the humid eyes of Alice. The open sympathy 
of the listeners soon stirred the spirit of the votary 
of music, whose voice regained its richness and vol¬ 
ume, without losing the touching softness which 
proved its secret charm. Exerting his renovated 
powers to the utmost, he was yet filling the arches 
of the cave with long and full tones, when a yell burst 
into the air without, that instantly stilled his pious 
strains, choking his voice suddenly, as though his 
heart had literally bounded into the passage of his 
throat. 

“We are lost!” exclaimed Alice, throwing herself 
into the expanded arms of Cora. 

“Not yet, not' yet,” returned the agitated, but 
undaunted Heyward. “The sound came from the 
center of the island, and it has been produced by the 
sight of their dead companions. We are not yet dis¬ 
covered, and there is still hope.” 

Faint and almost despairing as was the prospect of 
escape, the words of Duncan were not thrown away, 
for it awakened the powers of the sisters in such a 
manner, that they awaited the result in silence. A 
second yell soon followed the first, when a rush of 
voices was heard pouring down the island, from its 
upper to its lower extremity, until they reached the 
naked rock above the caverns, where, after a shout 
of savage screams, such as man alone can utter, and 
he only when in a state of the fiercest barbarity. 

The sound quickly spread around them in every di¬ 
rection. Some called to their fellows from the water’s 
edge, and were answered from the heights above. 
Cries were heard in the startling vicinity of the chasm 



The Last of the Mohicans 


115 


between the two caves, which mingled with hoarser 
yells that arose out of the abyss of the deep ravine. 
In short, so rapidly had the savage sounds diffused 
themselves over the barren rock, that it was not diffi¬ 
cult for the anxious listeners to imagine they could 
be heard beneath, as in truth they were above and on 
every side of them. 

In the midst of this tumult, a triumphant yell was 
raised within a few yards of the hidden entrance to 
the cave. Heyward abandoned every hope, with the 
belief it was the signal that they were discovered. 
Again the impression passed away, as he heard the 
voices collect near the spot where the white man had 
so reluctantly abandoned his rifle. Amid the jargon 
of the Indian dialects that he now plainly heard, it 
was easy to distinguish not only words, but sentences, 
in the patois 3 of the Canadas. A burst of voices had 
shouted simultaneously, “La Longue Carabine ! m 
causing the opposite woods to re-echo with a name 
which, Heyward well remembered, had been given by 
his enemies to a celebrated hunter and scout of the 
English camp, and who, he now learnt for the first 
time, had been his late companion. 

“La Longue Carabine! La Longue Carabine!” 
passed from mouth to mouth, until the whole band 
appeared to be collected around the trophy which 
would seem to announce the death of its formidable 
owner. After a vociferous consultation, which was. 
at times, deafened by bursts of savage joy, they 
again separated, filling the air with the name of a 
foe whose body, Heyward could collect from their 
expressions, they hoped to find concealed in some 
crevice of the island. 

“Now,” he whispered to the trembling sisters, “now 
is the moment of uncertainty! If our place of re- 

®aT~ dialect other than the standard or literary speech. 

4 French or Iroquois name for “The Long Rifle.” 





116 


The Last of the Mohicans 


treat escape this scrutiny, we are still safe! In any 
event, we are assured, by what has- fallen from our 
enemies, that our friends have escaped, and in two 
short hours we may look for succor from Webb.” 

There were now a few minutes of fearful stillness, 
during which Heyward well knew that the savages 
conducted their search with greater vigilance and 
method. More than once he could distinguish their 
footstens, as they brushed the sassafras, causing the 
faded leaves to rustle, and the branches to snap. At 
length, the pile yielded a little, a corner of a blanket 
fell, and a faint ray of light gleamed into the inner 
part of the cave. Cora folded Alice 5 to her bosom in 
agony, and Duncan sprang to his feet. A shout was 
at that moment heard, as if issuing from the center 
of the rock, announcing that the neighboring cavern 
had at length been entered. In a minute, the number 
and loudness of voices indicated that the whole party 
was collected in and around that secret place. 

As the inner passages to the two caves were so close 
to each other, Duncan, believing that escape was no 
longer possible, passed David and the sisters, to place 
himself between the latter and the first onset of the 
terrible meeting. Grown desperate by his situation, 
he drew nigh the slight barrier which separated him 
only by a few feet from his relentless pursuers, and 
placing his face to,the casual opening, he even looked 
out with a sort of desperate indifference, on their 
movements. 

Within reach of his arm was the brawny shoulder 
of a gigantic Indian, whose deep and authoritative 
voice appeared to give directions to the proceedings 
of his fellows. Beyond him again, Duncan could look 
into the vault opposite, which was filled with savages, 
upturning and rifling the humble furniture of the 


6 Curiously the first edition had “Agnes” here. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


117 


scout. The wound of David had dyed the leaves of 
the sassafras with a color that the natives well knew 
was anticipating the season. Over this sign of their 
success, they sent up a howl, like an opening from 
so many hounds who had recovered their lost trail. 
After this yell of victory, they tore up the fragrant 
bed of the cavern, and bore the branches into the 
chasm, scattering the boughs, as if they suspected 
them of concealing the person of the man they had 
so long hated and feared. One fierce and wild looking 
warrior approached the chief, bearing a load of the 
brush, and, pointing exultantly to the deep red stains 
with which it was sprinkled, uttered his joy in Indian 
yells, whose meaning Heyward was only enabled to 
comprehend by the frequent repetition of the name of 
“La Longue Carabine!” When this triumph had ceased 
he cast the brush on the slight heap that Duncan had 
made before the entrance of the second cavern, and 
closed the view. His example was followed by others; 
who as they drew the branches from the cave of the 
scout, threw them into one pile, adding unconsciously 
to the security of those they sought. The very slight¬ 
ness of the defense was its chief merit, for no one 
thought of disturbing a mass of brush, which all of 
them believed, in that moment of hurry and confu¬ 
sion, had been accidentally raised by the hands of 
their own party. 

As the blankets yielded before the outward pressure, 
and the branches settled into the fissure of the 
rock by their own weight, forming a compact body, 
Duncan once more breathed freely. With a light 
step, and lighter heart, he returned to the center of 
the cave, and took the place he had left, where he 
could command a view of the opening next to the 
river. While he was in the act of making this move¬ 
ment, the Indians, as if changing their purpose by a 
common impulse, broke away from the chasm in a 


118 


The Last of the Mohicans 


body, and were heard rushing up the island again, 
toward the point whence they had originally descend¬ 
ed. Here another wailing cry betrayed that they 
were again collected around the bodies of their dead 
comrades. 

Duncan now ventured to look at his companions; 
for, during the most critical moments of their danger, 
he had been apprehensive that the anxiety of his 
countenance might communicate some additional 
alarm to those who were so little able to sustain it. 

“They are gone, Cora!” he whispered, “Alice, they 
are returned whence they came, and we are saved! 
To Heaven, that has alone delivered us from the grasp 
of so merciless an enemy, be all the praise!” 

“Then to Heaven will I return my thanks!” ex¬ 
claimed the younger sister, rising from the encircling 
arms of Cora, and casting herself with enthusiastic 
gratitude on the naked rock, “to Heaven who 6 has 
spared the tears of a gray-headed father; has saved 
the lives of those I love so much—” 

Both Heyward, and the more tempered Cora, wit¬ 
nessed the act of involuntary emotion with powerful 
sympathy, the former secretly believing that piety had 
never worn a form so lovely as it had now assumed 
in the youthful person of Alice. Her eyes were ra¬ 
diant with the glow of grateful feelings; the flush of 
her beauty was again seated on her cheeks, and her 
whole soul seemed ready and anxious to pour out its 
thanksgiving, through the medium of her eloquent fea¬ 
tures. But when her lips moved, the words they 
should have uttered appeared frozen by some new and 
sudden chill. Her bloom gave place to the paleness of 
death; her soft and melting eyes grew hard, and 
seemed contracting with horror; while those hands 
which she had raised, clasped in each other, toward 


HJsage now would have ‘ Heaven that.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


119 


Heaven, dropped in horizontal lines before her, the 
fingers pointed forward in convulsed motion. Hey¬ 
ward turned, the instant she gave a direction to his 
suspicions, and, peering just above the ledge which 
formed the threshold of the open outlet of the cavern, 
he beheld the malignant, fierce, and savage features^ 
of Le Renard Subtil. 

In that moment of horrid surprise, the self-posses¬ 
sion of Heyward did not desert him. He observed by 
the vacant expression of the Indian’s countenance, 
that his eye, accustomed to the open air, had not yet 
been able to penetrate the dusky light which pervaded 
the depth of the cavern. He had even thought of re¬ 
treating beyond a curvature in the natural wall, which 
might still conceal him and his companions, when, by 
the sudden gleam of intelligence that shot across the 
features of the savage, he saw it was too late, and 
that they were betrayed. 

The look of exultation and brutal triumph which 
announced this terrible truth, was. irresistibly irrita¬ 
ting. Forgetful of everything but the impulse of his 
hot blood, Duncan leveled his pistol and fired. The 
report of the weapon made the cavern bellow like the 
eruption of a volcano, and when the smoke it vomited 
had driven away before the current of air which is¬ 
sued from the ravine, the place so lately occupied by 
the features of his treacherous guide was vacant. 
Rushing to the outlet, Heyward caught a glimpse 
of his dark figure, stealing around a low and narrow 
ledge, which soon hid him entirely from his sight. 

Among the savages, a frightful stillness succeeded 
the explosion, which had just been heard bursting 
from the bowels of the rock. But when Le Renard 
raised his voice in a long and intelligent whoop, it was 
answered by a spontaneous yell from the mouth of 
every Indian within hearing of the sound. The clam¬ 
orous noises again rushed down the island, and be- 


120 


The Last of the Mohicans 


fore Duncan had time to recover from the shock, his 
feeble barrier of brush was scattered to the winds, 
the cavern was entered at both its extremities, and 
he and his companions were dragged from their shel¬ 
ter, and borne into the day, where they stood sur¬ 
rounded by the whole band of the triumphant Hurons. 


CHAPTER X 


T fear we shall outsleep the coming morn 
As much as we this night have overwatched!” 

—Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, V, i. 

The instant the shock of this sudden misfortune 
had abated, Duncan began to make his observations 
on the appearance and proceedings of their captors. 
Contrary to the usages of the natives in the wanton¬ 
ness of their success, they had respected, not only the 
persons of the trembling sisters, but his own. The 
rich ornaments of his military attire had indeed been 
repeatedly handled by different individuals of the 
tribe with eyes expressing a savage longing to pos¬ 
sess the baubles; but before the customary violence 
could be resorted to, a mandate in the authoritative 
voice of the large warrior already mentioned, stayed 
the uplifted hand, and convinced Heyward that they 
were to be reserved f«r some object of particular 
moment. 

While, however, these manifestations of weakness 
were exhibited by .the young and vain of the party, the 
more experienced warriors continued their search 
throughout both caverns, with an activity that de¬ 
noted they were far from being satisfied with those 
fruits of their conquest which had already been 
brought to light. Unable to discover any new victim, 
these diligent workers of vengeance soon approached 
their male prisoners, pronouncing the name of ‘‘La 
Longue Carabine,’’ with a fierceness that could not 
easily be mistaken. Duncan affected not to compre¬ 
hend the meaning of their repeated and violent inter¬ 
rogatories, while his companion was spared the effort 
of a similar deception, by his ignorance of French. 
Wearied, at length, by their importunities, and ap¬ 
prehensive of irritating his captors by too stubborn 

[ 121 ] 


122 


The Last of the Mohicans 


a silence, the former looked about him in quest of 
Magua, who might interpret his answers to those 
questions which were, at each moment, becoming more 
earnest and threatening. 

The conduct of this savage had formed a solitary 
exception to that of all his fellows. While the others 
were busily occupied in seeking to gratify their child¬ 
ish passion for finery, by plundering even the mis¬ 
erable effects of the scout, or had been searching, with 
such blood-thirsty vengeance in their looks, for their 
absent owner, Le Renard had stood at a little distance 
from the prisoners, with a demeanor so quiet and sat¬ 
isfied, as to betray, that he, at least, had already ef¬ 
fected the grand purpose of his treachery. When the 
eyes of Heyward first met those of his recent guide, 
he turned them away, in horror, at the sinister though 
calm look he encountered. Conquering his disgust, 
however, he was able, with an averted face, to ad¬ 
dress his successful enemy. 

“Le Renard Subtil is too much of a warrior,” said 
the reluctant Heyward, “to refuse telling an unarmed 
man what his conquerors say.” 

“They ask for the hunter who knows the paths 
through the woods,” returned Magua, in his broken 
English, laying his hand, at the same time, with a 
ferocious smile, on the bundle of leaves, with which a 
wound on his own shoulder was bandaged. “La Longue 
Carabine! his rifle is good, and his eye never shut; 
but, like the short gun of the white chief, it is noth¬ 
ing against the life of Le Subtil.” 

“Le Renard is too brave to remember the hurts he 
has received in war, or the hands that gave them!” 

“Was it war when the tired Indian rested at the 
sugar tree, to taste his corn? Who filled the bushes 
with creeping enemies? Who drew the knife? Whose 
tongue was peace, while his heart was colored with 


The Last of the Mohicans 


123 


blood? Did Magua say that the hatchet was out of 
the ground, and that his hand dug it up?” 

As Duncan dared not retort upon his accuser by re¬ 
minding him of his own premeditated treachery, and 
disdained to deprecate his resentment by any words 
of apology, he remained silent. Magua seemed also 
content to rest the controversy as well as all further 
communication there, for he resumed the leaning at¬ 
titude against the rock, from which, in momentary 
energy, he had arisen. But the cry of “La Longue 
Carabine” was renewed the instant the impatient 
savages.perceived that the short dialogue was ended. 

“You hear,” said Magua, with stubborn indiffer¬ 
ence. “The red Hurons call for the life of ‘The 
Long Rifle,’ or they will have the blood of them that 
keep him hid!” 

“He is gone—escaped. He is far beyond their 
reach.” 

Renard smiled with cold contempt, as he an¬ 
swered,— 

“When the white man dies, he thinks he is at 
peace; but the red-men know how to torture even the 
ghosts of their enemies. Where is his body? Let the 
Hurons see his scalp.” 

“He is not dead, but escaped.” 

Magua shook his head incredulously. 

“Is he a bird to spread his wings; or is he a fish, 
to swim without air ? 1 The white chief reads in his 
books, and he believes the Hurons are fools!” 

“Though no fish, ‘The Long Rifle’ can swim. He 
floated down the stream when the powder was all 
burnt, and when the eyes of the Hurons were behind 
a cloud.” 

“And why did the white chief stay?” demanded 
the still incredulous Indian. “Is he a stone that goes 
to the bottom, or does the scalp burn his head?” 


In the first edition “swim without looking at the sun.” 



124 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“That I am not a stone, your dead comrade, who 
fell into the falls, might answer, were the life still in 
him,” said the provoked young man, using, in his 
anger, that boastful language which was most likely 
to excite the admiration of an Indian. “The white 
man thinks none but cowards desert their women.” 

Magua muttered a few words, inaudibly, between 
his teeth, before he continued, aloud— 

“Can the Delawares swim, too, as well as crawl in 
the bushes? Where is Le Gros Serpent ?” 2 

Duncan, who perceived by the use of these Canadian 
appellations, that his late companions were much 
better known to his enemies than to himself, an¬ 
swered, reluctantly, “He also is gone down with the 
water.” 

“Le Cerf Agile 3 is not here?” 

“I know not whom you call ‘The Nimble Deer,’ ” 
said Duncan, gladly profiting by any excuse to create 
delay. 

“Uncas,” returned Magua, pronouncing the Dela¬ 
ware name with even greater difficulty than he spoke 
his English words. “ ‘Bounding Elk’ is what the 
white man says, when he calls to the young Mohican.” 

“Here is some confusion in names between us, Le 
Renard,” said Duncan, hoping to provoke a discus¬ 
sion. “Daim is the French for deer, and cerf for 
stag; elan 1 is the true term, when one would speak of 
an elk.” 

“Yes,” muttered the Indian, in his native tongue; 
“The pale-faces are prattling women! They have two 
words for each thing, while a red-skin will make the 
sound of his voice speak for him.” Then changing 
his language, he continued adhering to the imperfect 

2 French for “The Great Serpent.” See III. note 5. 

3 Another French or Iroquois appellation 

4 The nouns dciim, cerf and elan are not italicized in the 
first edition. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


125 


nomenclature of his provincial instructors, “The deer 
is swift, but weak; the elk is swift, but strong; and 
the son of ‘Le Serpent’ is ‘Le Cerf Agile.’ Has he 
leaped the river to the woods!’’ 

“If you mean the younger Delaware, he too is gone 
down with the water.” 

As there was nothing improbable to an Indian in 
the manner of the escape, Magua admitted the truth 
of what he had heard, with a readiness that afforded 
additional evidence how little he would prize such 
worthless captives. With his companions, however, 
the feeling was manifestly different. 

The Hurons had awaited the result of this short 
dialogue with characteristic patience, and with a si¬ 
lence that increased until there was a general still¬ 
ness in the band. When Heyward ceased to speak, 
they turned their eyes, as one man, on Magua, de¬ 
manding in this expressive manner an explanation 
of what had been said. Their interpreter pointed to 
the river, and made them acquainted with the result, 
as much by the action as by the few words he uttered. 
When the fact was generally understood, the savages 
raised a frightful yell, which declared the extent of 
their disappointment. Some ran furiously to the 
water’s edge, beating the air with frantic gestures, 
while others spat upon the element, to resent the 
supposed treason it had committed against their ac- 
khowledged rights as conquerors. A few, and they 
not the least powerful and terrific of the band, threw 
lowering, sullen looks, in which the fiercest passion 
was only tempered by habitual self-command, at those 
captives who still remained in their power; while one 
or two even gave vent to their malignant feelings by 
the most menacing gestures, against which neither 
the sex nor the beauty of the sisters was any protec¬ 
tion. The young soldier made a desperate but fruit¬ 
less effort to spring to the side of Alice, when he saw 


126 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the dark hand of a savage twisted in the rich tresses 
which were flowing in volumes over her shoulders, 
while a knife was passed around the head from which 
they fell, as if to denote the horrid manner in which 
it was about to be robbed of its beautiful ornament. 
But his hands were bound; and at the first movement 
he made, he felt the grasp of the powerful Indian 
who directed the band, pressing his shoulder like a 
vise . 5 Immediately conscious how unavailing any 
struggle against such an overwhelming force must 
prove, he submitted to his fate, encouraging his gentle 
companions by a few low and tender assurances, that 
the natives seldom failed to threaten more than they 
performed. 

But, while Duncan resorted to these words of con¬ 
solation to quiet the apprehensions of the sisters, he 
was not so weak as to deceive himself . 6 He well, knew 
that the authority of an Indian chief was so little 
conventional, that it was oftener maintained by physi¬ 
cal superiority than by any moral supremacy he might 
possess. The danger was, therefore, magnified exactly 
in proportion to the number of the savage spirits by 
which they were surrounded. The most positive man¬ 
date from him who seemed the acknowledged leader, 
was liable to be violated at each moment, by any rash 
hand that might choose to sacrifice a victim to the 
manes 7 of some dead friend or relative. While, there¬ 
fore, he sustained an outward appearance of calmness 
and fortitude, his heart leaped into his throat, when¬ 
ever any of their fierce captors drew nearer than 
common to the helpless sisters, or fastened one of 

r, The spelling ‘ vice'’ of the first edition is that still cur.- 
rent in England. 

"Cooper’s remarks need qualification here. A strong 
chief did possess nearly absolute power over his people 
and could control them, though not perhaps in all instances, 
e. g., when they were under strong excitement. 

’■Latin for spirit or shade. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


127 


their sullen wandering looks on those fragile forms 
which were so little able to resist the slightest assault. 

His apprehensions were, however, greatly relieved, 
when he saw that the leader had summoned his war¬ 
riors to himself in council. Their deliberations were 
short, and it would seem, by the silence of most of the 
party, the decision unanimous. By the frequency 
with which the few speakers pointed in the direction 
of the encampment of Webb, it was apparent they 
dreaded the approach of danger from that quarter. 
This consideration probably hastened their determi¬ 
nation, and quickened the subsequent movements. 

During the short conference, Heyward, finding a 
respite from his greatest fears, had leisure to admire 
the cautious manner in which the Hurons had made 
their approaches, even after hostilities had ceased. 

It has already been stated that the upper half of 
the island was a naked rock, and destitute of any 
other defenses than a few scattered logs of drift¬ 
wood. They had selected this point to make their 
descent, having borne the canoe through the wood 
around the cataract for the purpose. Placing their 
arms in the little vessel, a dozen men clinging to its 
sides had trusted themselves to the direction of the 
canoe, which was controlled by two of the most skilful 
warriors, in attitudes that enabled them to command 
a view of the dangerous passage. Favored by this 
arrangement, they touched the head of the island at 
that point which had proved so fatal to their first 
adventures, but with the advantages of superior num¬ 
bers, and the possession of firearms. That such had 
been the manner of their descent was rendered quite 
apparent to Duncan; for they now bore the light bark 
from the upper end of the rock, and placed it in the 
water, near the mouth of the outer cavern. As soon 
as this change was made, the leader made signs to 
the prisoners to descend and enter. 


128 


The Last of the Mohicans 


As resistance was impossible, and remonstrance 
useless, Heyward set the example of submission, by 
leading the way into the canoe, where he was soon 
seated with the sisters, and the still wondering David. 
Notwithstanding the Hurons were necessarily igno¬ 
rant of the little channels among the eddies and rap¬ 
ids of the stream, they knew the common signs of 
such a navigation too well to commit any material 
blunder. When the pilot chosen for the task of guid¬ 
ing the canoe had taken his station, the whole band 
plunged again into the.river, the vessel glided down 
the current, and in a few moments the captives found 
themselves on the south bank of the stream, nearly 
opposite to the point where they had struck it the 
preceding evening. 

Here was held another short but earnest consulta¬ 
tion, during which the horses, to whose panic their 
owners ascribed their heaviest misfortune, were led 
from the cover of the woods and brought to the 
sheltered spot. The band now divided. The great 
chief, so often mentioned, mounting the charger of 
Heyward, led the way directly across the river, fol¬ 
lowed by most of his people, and disappeared in the 
woods, leaving the prisoners in charge of six savages, 
at whose head was Le Renard Subtil. Duncan wit¬ 
nessed all their movements with renewed uneasiness. 

He had been fond of believing, from the uncommon 
forbearance of the savages, that he was reserved as 
a prisoner, to be delivered to Montcalm. As the 
thoughts of those who are in misery seldom slumber, 
and the invention is never more lively than when it 
is stimulated by hope, however feeble and remote, he 
had even imagined that the parental feelings of Mun- 
ro were to be made instrumental in seducing him 
from his duty to the king. For though the French 
commander bore a high character for courage and 
enterprise, he was also thought to be expert in those 


The Last of the Mohicans 


129 


political practices which do not always respect the 
nicer obligations of morality, and which so generally 
disgraced the European diplomacy of that period. 

All those busy and ingenious speculations were now 
annihilated by the conduct of his captors. That por¬ 
tion of the band who had followed the huge warrior, 
took the route towards the foot of Horican, and no 
other expectation was left for himself and compan¬ 
ions than th^t they were to be retained as hopeless 
captives by their savage conquerors. Anxious to know 
the worst, and willing, in such an emergency, to try 
the potency of his wealth, he overcame his reluctance 
to speak to Magua. Addressing himself to his former 
guide, who had now assumed the authority and man¬ 
ner of one who was to direct the future movements 
of the party, he said, in tones as friendly and confid¬ 
ing as he could assume,— 

“I would speak to Magua, what is fit only for so 
great a chief to hear.” 

The Indian turned his eyes on the young soldier, 
scornfully, as he answered— 

“Speak, then; trees have no ears.” 

“But the red Hurons are not deaf, and counsel that 
is fit for the great men of a nation, would make the 
young warriors drunk. If Magua will not listen, the 
officer of the king knows how to be silent.” 

The savage spoke carelessly to his comrades, who 
were busied, after their awkward manner, in prepar¬ 
ing the horses for the reception of the sisters, and 
moved a little to one side, whither, by a cautious 
gesture, he induced Heyward to follow. 

“Now speak,” he said, “if the words are such as 
Magua should hear.” 

“Le Renard Subtil has proved himself worthy of 
the honorable name given to him by his Canada 
fathers,” commenced Heyward, “I see his wisdom, 
and all that he has done for us, and shall remember it, 


130 


The Last of the Mohicans 


when the hour to reward him arrives. Yes, yes! 
Renard has proved that he is not only a great chief 
in council, but one who knows how to deceive his 
enemies!” 

“What has Renard done?” coldly demanded the In¬ 
dian. 

“What! has he not seen that the woods were filled 
with outlying parties of the enemies, and that the 
serpent could not steal through them without being 
seen? Then, did he not lose his path, to blind the 
eyes of the Hurons? Did he not pretend to go back 
to his tribe, who had treated him ill, and driven him 
from their wigwams, like a dog? And, when we saw 
what he wished to do, did we not aid him, by making 
a false face, that the Hurons might think the white 
man believed that his friend was his enemy? Is not 
all this true? And when Le Subtil had shut the eyes 
and stopped the ears of his nation by his wisdom, did 
they not forget that they had once done him wrong, 
and forced him to flee to the Mohawks? And did 
they not leave him on the south side of the river, with 
their prisoners, while they have gone foolishly on the 
north? Does not Renard mean to turn like a fox on 
his footsteps, and to carry to the rich and gray-headed 
Scotchman his daughters? Yes, Magua, I see it all, 
and I have already been thinking how so much wis¬ 
dom and honesty should be repaid. First, the chief 
of William Henry will give as a great chief should 
for such a service. The medal 8 of Magua will no 
longer be of tin, but of beaten gold; his horn will 
run over with powder; dollars will be as plenty in his 
pouch as pebbles on the shore of Horican; and the 

s It has long been a practice with the whites to conciliate 
the important men of the Indians, by presenting medals, 
which are worn in the place of their own rude ornaments. 
Those given by the English generally bear the impression 
of the reigning king, and those given by the Americans 
that of the president. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


131 


deer will lick his hand, for they will know it to be 
vain to fly from the rifle he will carry! As for myself, 
I know not how to exceed the gratitude of the Scotch¬ 
man, but I—yes, I will—” 

“What will the young chief who comes from to¬ 
wards the sun, give?” demanded the Huron, observing 
that Heyward hesitated in his desire to end the enu¬ 
meration of benefits with that which might form the 
climax of an Indian’s wishes. 

“He will make the fire-water from the Islands in 
the salt lake flow before the wigwam of Magua, until 
the heart of the Indian shall be lighter than the 
feathers of the humming-bird, and his breath sweeter 
than the wild honeysuckle.” 

Le Renard had listened gravely as Heyward slow¬ 
ly proceeded in this subtle speech. When the young 
man mentioned the artifice he supposed the Indian to 
have practised on his own nation, the countenance of 
the listener was veiled in an expression of cautious 
gravity. At the allusion to the injury which Duncan 
affected to believe had driven the Huron from his na¬ 
tive tribe, a gleam of such ungovernable ferocity 
flashed from the other’s eyes as induced the adven¬ 
turous speaker to believe he had struck the proper 
chord. And by the time he reached the part where he 
so artfully blended the thirst of vengeance with the 
desire of gain, he had, at least, obtained a command 
of the deepest attention of the savage. The question 
put by Le Renard had been calm, and with all the 
dignity of an Indian; but it was quite apparent, by 
the thoughtful expression of the listener’s counten¬ 
ance, that the answer was most cunningly devised. 
The Huron mused a few moments, and then laying 
his hand on the rude bandages of his wounded shoul¬ 
der, he said, with some energy,— 

“Do friends make such marks?” 


132 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Would La Longue Carabine cut one so light on an 
enemy?” 

“Do the Delawares crawl upon those they love, like 
snakes, twisting themselves to strike?” 

“Would Le Gros Serpent have been heard by the 
ears of one he wished to be deaf?” 

“Does the white chief burn his powder in the faces 
of his brothers?” 

“Does he ever miss his aim, when seriously bent to 
kill?” returned Duncan smiling with well acted dis¬ 
dain. 

Another long and deliberative pause succeeded these 
sententious questions and ready replies. Duncan saw 
that the Indian hesitated. In order to complete his 
victory, he was in the act of recommencing the enu¬ 
meration of the rewards, when Magua made an ex¬ 
pressive gesture, and said— 

“Enough. Le Renard is a wise chief, and what he 
does will be seen. Go and keep the mouth shut. When 
Magua speaks, it will be the time to answer.” 

Heyward, perceiving that the eyes of his companion 
were warily fastened on the rest of the band, fell 
back immediately, in order to avoid the appearance 
of any suspicious confederacy with their leader. 
Magua approached the horses, and affected to be well 
pleased with the diligence and ingenuity of his com¬ 
rades. He then signed to Heyward to assist the sis¬ 
ters into their saddles, for he seldom deigned to use 
the English tongue, unless urged by some motive of 
more than usual moment. 

There was no longer any plausible pretext for fur¬ 
ther delay, and Duncan was obliged, however reluc¬ 
tantly, to comply. As he performed this office, he 
whispered his reviving hopes in the ears of the trem¬ 
bling maidens, who, through dread of encountering 
the savage countenances of their captors, seldom 
raised their eyes from the ground. The mare of 


The Last of the Mohicans 


133 


David had been taken with the followers of the large 
chief; in consequence, its owner, as well as Duncan, 
was compelled to journey on foot. The latter did not, 
however, so much regret this circumstance, as it might 
enable him to retard the speed of the party, for he 
still turned his longing looks in the direction of Fort 
Edward, in the vain expectation of catching some 
sound from that quarter of the forest which might 
denote the approach of speedy succor. 

When all were prepared Magua made the signal to 
proceed, advancing in front, to lead the party in his 
own person. Next followed David, who was gradu¬ 
ally coming to a true sense of his condition, as the 
effects of the wound became less and less apparent. 
The sisters rode in his rear, with Heyward at their 
side, while the Indians flanked the party, and brought 
up the close of their march, with a caution that 
seemed never to tire. 

In this manner they proceeded in uninterrupted 
silence, except when Heyward addressed some soli¬ 
tary word of comfort to the females, or David gave 
vent to the moanings of his spirit, in piteous exclama¬ 
tions, which he intended should express the humility 
of resignation. Their direction lay toward the south, 
and in a course nearly opposite to the road to Wil¬ 
liam Henry. Notwithstanding this apparent adher¬ 
ence in Magua to the original determination of his 
conquerors, Heyward could not believe his tempting 
bait was so soon forgotten; and he knew the windings 
of an Indian path too well to suppose that its apparent 
course led directly to its objects, when artifice was 
at all necessary. Mile after mile was, however, passed 
through the boundless woods, in this painful manner, 
without any prospect of a termination to their jour¬ 
ney. Heyward watched the sun, as he darted his 
meridian rays through the branches of the trees, and 
pined for the moment when the policy of Magua 


134 


The Last of the Mohicans 


should change their route to one more favorable to 
his hopes. Sometimes he fancied the wary savage, 
despairing of passing the army 9 of Montcalm in safety, 
was holding his way toward a well-known border set¬ 
tlement, where a distinguished officer of the crown, 
and a favored friend of the Six Nations, held his 
large possessions, as well as his usual residence. To 
be delivered into the hands of Sir William Johnson 
was far preferable to being led into the wilds of Can¬ 
ada; but in order to effect even the former, it would 
be necessary to traverse the forest for many weary 
leagues, each step of which was carrying him further 
from the scene of the war, and, consequently, from 
his posf, not only of honor, but of duty. 

Cora alone remembered the parting injunctions of 
the scout, and whenever an opportunity offered, she 
stretched forth her arm to bend aside the twigs that 
met her hands. But the vigilance of the Indians ren¬ 
dered this act of precaution both difficult and danger¬ 
ous. She was often defeated in her purpose, by en¬ 
countering their watchful eyes, when it became neces¬ 
sary to feign an alarm she did not feel, and occupy the 
limb by some gesture of feminine apprehension. Once, 
and once only, was she completely successful; when 
she broke down the bough of a large sumach, and by a 
sudden thought, let her glove fall at the same instant. 
This sign, intended for those that might follow, was 
observed by one of her conductors, who restored the 
glove, broke the remaining branches of the bush in 
such a manner that it appeared to proceed from the 
struggling of some beast in its branches, and then 
laid his hand on his tomahawk, with a look so signifi¬ 
cant, that it put an effectual end to these stolen me¬ 
morials of their passage. 

As there were horses, to leave the prints of their 
footsteps, in both bands of the Indians, this interrup- 

B In the first editidn “the beleaguering army.” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


135 


tion cut off any probable hopes of assistance being 
conveyed through the means of their trail. 

Heyward would have called out twenty times to their 
leader, and ventured a remonstrance, had there been 
anything encouraging in the gloomy reserve of the 
savage. But Magua, during all this time, seldom 
turned to look at his followers, and never spoke. With 
the sun for his only guide, or aided by such blind 
marks as are only known to the sagacity of a native, 
he held his way along the barrens of pine, through 
occasional little fertile vales, across brooks and 
rivulets, and over undulating hills, with the accuracy 
of instinct, and nearly with the directness of a bird. 
He never seemed to hesitate. Whether the path was 
hardly distinguishable, whether it disappeared, or 
whether it lay beaten and plain before him, made no 
sensible difference in his speed or certainty. It 
seemed as though fatigue could not affect him. When¬ 
ever the eyes of the wearied travelers rose from the 
decayed leaves over which they trode , 10 his dark form 
was to be seen glancing among the stems of the trees 
in front, his head immovably fastened in a forward 
position, with the light plume on its crest, fluttering 
in a current of air, made solely by the swiftness of 
his own motion. 

But all this diligence and speed was not without an 
object. After crossing a low vale, through which a 
gushing brook meandered, he suddenly rose a hill, so 
steep and difficult of ascent, that the sisters were com¬ 
pelled to alight, in order to follow. When the sum¬ 
mit was gained, they found themselves on a level spot, 
but thinly covered with trees, under one of which 
Magua had thrown his dark form, as if willing and 
ready to seek thaf rest, which was so much needed 
by the whole party. 

10 Old form of “trod.” Compare “sate” and “,sat,” 
“bare” and “bore,” “brake” and “broke,” etc. 



CHAPTER XI 


“Cursed be my tribe 

If I forgive him.” 

—Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, I, iii. 

The Indian had selected for this desirable purpose 
one of those steep, pyramidal hills which bear a 
strong resemblance to artificial mounds, and which so 
frequently occur in the valleys of America . 1 The one 
in question was high and precipitous; its top flattened, 
as usual; but with one of its sides more than ordina¬ 
rily irregular. It possessed no other apparent advan¬ 
tage for a resting-place than in its elevation and 
form, which might render defense easy, and surprise 
nearly impossible. As Heyward, however, no longer 
expected that rescue which time and distance now 
rendered so improbable, he regarded these little pe¬ 
culiarities with an eye devoid of interest, devoting 
himself entirely to the comfort and condolence of his 
feebler companions. The Narragansetts were suffered 
to browse on the branches of the trees and shrubs 
that were thinly scattered over the summit of the 
hill, while the remains of their provisions were spread 
under the shade of a beech, that stretched its horizon¬ 
tal limbs like a canopy above them. 

Notwithstanding the swiftness of their flight, one 
of the Indians had found an opportunity to strike a 
straggling fawn with an arrow, and had borne the 
more preferable fragments of the victim patiently 
on his shoulders, to the stopping place. Without any 
aid from the science of cookery, he was immediately 
employed, in common with his fellows, in gorging 
himself with this digestible sustenance. Magua alone 
sat apart, without participation in the revolting meal, 
and apparently buried in the deepest thought. 


x In the first edition “valleys of the American States.” 

[ 136 ] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


137 


This abstinence, so remarkable in an Indian, when 
he possessed the means of satisfying hunger, at length 
attracted the notice of Heyward. The young man 
willingly believed that the Huron deliberated on the 
most eligible manner of eluding the vigilance of his 
associates. With a view to assist his plans, by any 
suggestion of his own, and to strengthen the tempta¬ 
tion, he left the beech, and straggled, as if without 
an object, to the spot where Le Renard was seated. 

“Has not Magua kept the sun in his face long 
enough to escape all danger from the Canadians?” 
he asked, as though no longer doubtful of the good 
intelligence established between them, “and will not 
the chief of William Henry be better pleased to see 
his daughters before another night may have hard¬ 
ened his heart to their loss, to make him less liberal 
in his reward?” 

“Do the pale faces love their children less in the 
morning than at night?” asked the Indian, coldly. 

“By no means,” returned Heyward, anxious to re¬ 
call his error, if he had made one. “The white man 
may, and does often, forget the burial-place of his 
fathers; he sometimes ceases to remember those he 
should love, and has promised to cherish; but the 
affection of a parent for his child is never permitted 
to die.” 

“And is the heart of the white-headed chief soft, 
and will he think of the babes that his squaws had 
given him? He is hard to his warriors, and his eyes 
are made of stone!” 

“He is severe to the idle and wicked, but to the 
sober and deserving he is a leader, both just and 
humane. I have known many fond and tender par¬ 
ents, but never have I seen a man whose heart was 
softer toward his child. You have seen the gray- 
head in front of his warriors, Magua, but I have 


138 


The Last of the Mohicans 


seen his eyes swimming in water, when he spoke 
of those children who are now in your power!” 

Heyward paused, for he knew not how to construe 
the remarkable expression that gleamed across the 
swarthy features of the attentive Indian. At first 
it seemed as if the remembrance of the promised 
reward grew vivid in his mind, as he listened to the 
sources of parental feeling which were to assure 
its possession; but as Duncan proceeded, the expres¬ 
sion of joy became so fiercely malignant, that it was 
impossible not to apprehend it proceeded from some 
passion even more sinister than avarice. 

“Go,” said the Huron, suppressing the alarming 
exhibition, in an instant, in a death-like calmness of 
countenance, “go to the dark-haired daughter, and 
say, Magua waits to speak. The father will remem¬ 
ber what the child promises.” 

Duncan, who interpreted this speech to express a 
wish for some additional pledge that the promised 
gifts should not be withheld, slowly and reluctantly 
repaired to the place where the sisters were now¬ 
resting from their fatigue, to communicate its pur¬ 
port to Cora. 

“You understand the nature of an Indian’s wishes,” 
he concluded, as he led her towards the place where 
she was expected, “and must be prodigal of your of¬ 
fers of powder and blankets. Ardent spirits are, 
however, the most prized by such as he; nor would 
it be amiss to add some boon from your own hand, 
with that grace you so well know how to practise. 
Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind and 
ingenuity even your own life, as well as that of 
Alice, may in some measure depend.” 

“Heyward, and yours!” 

“Mine is of little moment. It is already sold to 
my king, and is a prize to be seized by any enemy who 
may possess the power. I have no father to expect 


The Last of the Mohicans 139 

me, and but few friends to lament a fate which I 
have courted with the insatiable longings of youth 
after distinction. But hush! we approach the Indian. 
Magua, the lady with whom you wish to speak is 
here/’ 

The Indian rose slowly from his seat, and stood 
for near a minute silent and motionless. He then 
signed with his hand for Heyward to retire, saying 
coldly— 

“When the Huron talks to the women, his tribe 
shut their ears.” 

Duncan still lingering, as if refusing to comply, 
Cora said, with a calm smile— 

“You hear, Heyward, and delicacy at least should 
urge you to retire. Go to Alice, and comfort her 
with our reviving prospects.” 

She waited until he had departed, and then turn¬ 
ing to the native, with the dignity of her sex in her 
voice and manner, she added, “What would Le Renard 
say to the daughter of Munro?” 

“Listen,” said the Indian, laying his hand firmly 
upon her arm, as if willing to draw her utmost at¬ 
tention to his words; a movement that Cora as firmly 
but quietly repulsed, by extricating the limb from his 
grasp, “Magua was born a chief and a warrior among 
the red Hurons of the lakes; he saw the suns of 
twenty summers make the snows of twenty winters 
run off in the streams before he saw a paleface; 
and he was happy! Then his Canada fathers came 
into the woods, and taught him to drink the fire¬ 
water, and he became a rascal. The Hurons drove 
him from the graves of his fathers, as they would 
chase the hunted buffalo. He ran down the shores 
of the lakes, and followed their outlet to the ‘City 
of Cannon .’ 2 There he hunted and fished, till the 


2 Indian name for Quebec. 



140 


The Last of the Mohuans 


people chased him again through the woods into the 
arms of his enemies. The chief, who was born a 
Huron, was at last a warrior among the Mohawks!” 

“Something like this I had heard before,” said 
Cora, observing that he paused to suppress those 
passions which began to burn with too bright a flame, 
as he recalled the recollection of his supposed injuries. 

“Was it the fault of Le Renard that his head was 
not made of rock? Who gave him the fire-water? 
Who made him a villain? ’Twas the pale-faces, the 
people of your own color.” 

“And am I answerable that thoughtless and un¬ 
principled men exist, whose shades of countenance 
may resemble mine?” Cora calmly demanded of the 
excited savage. 

“No, Magua is a man, and not a fool. Such as you 
never open their lips to the burning stream. The 
Great Spirit has given you wisdom.” 

“What then have I to do or say in the matter of 
your misfortunes, not to say of your errors?” 

“Listen,” repeated the Indian, resuming his earnest 
attitude. “When his English and French fathers 
dug up the hatchet, Le Renard struck the war-post of 
the Mohawks, and went out against his own nation. 
The pale-faces have driven the red-skins from their 
hunting-grounds, and now, when they fight, a white 
man leads the way. The old chief of the Horicans, 
your father, was a great captain of our war party. 
He said to the Mohawks, do this, and do that, and 
he was minded. He made a law that if an Indian 
swallowed the fire-water, and came into the cloth 
wigwams of his warriors, it should not be forgotten. 
Magua foolishly opened his mouth, and the hot liquor 
led him into the cabin of Munro. What did the gray- 
head? Let his daughter say.” 

“He forgot not his words, and did justice by pun¬ 
ishing the offender,” said the undaunted maiden. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


141 


“Justice!” repeated the Indian, casting an oblique 
glance of the most ferocious expression at her un¬ 
yielding countenance.. “Is it justice to make evil, and 
then punish for it! Magua was not himself; it was 
the fire-water that spoke and acted for him, but 
Munro did not believe it. The Huron chief was tied 
up before all the pale-faced warriors, and whipped 
with sticks like a dog.” 

Cora remained silent, for she knew not how to 
palliate this imprudent severity on the part of her 
father, in a manner to suit the comprehension of an 
Indian. 

“See,” continued Magua, tearing aside the slight 
calico that very imperfectly concealed the painted 
breast, “here are scars given by knives and bullets— 
of these a warrior may boast before his nation; but 
the gray head has left marks on the back of the Huron 
chief, that he must hide, like a squaw, under this 
painted cloth of the whites.” 

“I had thought,” resumed Cora, “that an Indian 
warrior was patient, and that his spirit felt not, and 
knew not the pain his body suffered?” 

“When the Chippewas tied Magua to the stake, and 
cut this gash,” said the other, laying his finger on 
a deep scar, “the Huron laughed in their faces, and 
told them, Women struck so light! His spirit was 
then in the clouds! But when he felt the blows of 
Munro, his spirit lay under the birch. The spirit 
of a Huron is never drunk; it remembers forever!” 

“But it may be appeased. If my father has done 
you this injustice, show him how an Indian can for¬ 
give an injury, and take back his daughters. You 
have heard from Major Heyward—” 

Magua shook his head, forbidding the repetition 
of offers he so much despised. 

“What would you have?” continued Cora, after a 
most painful pause, while the conviction forced itself 


142 


The Last of the Mohicans 


on her mind that the too sanguine and generous Dun- 
can had been cruelly deceived by the cunning of the 
savage. 

“What a Huron loves—good for good; bad for 
bad!” 

“You would then revenge the injury inflicted by 
Munro on his helpless daughters. Would it not be 
more like a man to go before his face, and take the 
satisfaction of a warrior?” 

“The arms of the pale-faces are long, and their 
knives sharp!” returned the savage, with a malig¬ 
nant laugh. “Why should Le Renard go among the 
muskets of his warriors, when he holds the spirit of 
the gray-head in his hand?” 

“Name your intention, Magua,” said Cora, strug¬ 
gling with herself to speak with steady calmness. 
“Is it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or do you 
contemplate even some greater evil ? Is there no 
reward, no means of palliating the injury, and of 
softening your heart? At least, release my gentle 
sister, and pour out all your malice on me. Purchase 
wealth by her safety, and satisfy your revenge with 
a single victim. The loss of both of his daughters 
might bring the aged man to his grave, and where 
then would be the satisfaction of Le Renard?” 

“Listen,” said the Indian again. “The light eyes 
can go back to the Horican, and tell the old chief what 
has been done, if the dark-haired woman will swear 
by the Great spirit of her fathers to tell no lie.” 

“What must I promise?” demanded Cora, still 
maintaining a secret ascendency over the fierce native, 
by the collected and feminine dignity of her presence. 

“When Magua left his people, his wife was given 
to another chief; he has now made friends with the 
Hurons, and will go back to the graves of his tribe, 
on the shores of the great lake. Let the daughter 


The Last of the Mohicans 


143 


of the English chief follow, and live in his wigwam 
forever.” 

However revolting a proposal of such a character 
might prove to Cora, she retained, notwithstanding 
her powerful disgust, sufficient self-command to re¬ 
ply, without betraying the weakness. 

“And what pleasure would Magua find in scaring 
his cabin with a wife he did not love; one who would 
be of a nation and color different from his own? It 
would be better to take the gold of Munro, and buy 
the heart of some Huron maid with his gifts and 
generosity.” 

The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but 
bent his fierce looks on the countenance of Cora in 
such wavering glances, that her eyes sunk with shame, 
under an impression that, for the first time, they 
had encountered an expression that no chaste female 
might endure. While she was shrinking within her¬ 
self, in dread of having her ears wounded by some 
proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice 
of Magua answered in its tones of deepest malig¬ 
nancy— 

“When the blows scorched the back of the Huron, 
he would know where to find a woman to feel the 
smart. The daughter of Munro would draw his 
water, hoe his corn, and cook his venison. The body 
of the gray-head would sleep among his cannon, but 
his heart would lie within the reach of Le Subtil.” 

“Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous 
name!” cried Cora, in an ungovernable burst of filial 
indignation. “None but a fiend could meditate such 
a vengeance! But thou overratest thy power. You 
shall find it is, in truth, the heart of Munro you hold, 
and that it will defy your utmost malice!” 

The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly 
smile that showed an unaltered purpose, while he 
motioned her away, as if to close their conference 


144 


The Last of the Mohicans 


forever. Cora, already regretting her precipitation, 
was obliged to comply, for Magua instantly left the 
spot, and approached his gluttonous comrades. Hey¬ 
ward flew to the side of the agitated female, and de¬ 
manded the result of a dialogue that he had watched 
at a distance with so much interest. But unwilling 
to alarm the fears of Alice, she evaded a direct reply, 
betraymg only by her countenance her utter want 
of success, and keeping her anxious looks fastened 
on the slightest movements of their captors. To the 
reiterated and earnest questions of her sister con¬ 
cerning their probable destination, she made no other 
answer than by pointing toward the dark group, with 
an agitation she could not control, and murmuring 
as she folded Alice to her bosom— 

“There, there. Read our fortunes in their faces. 
We shall see. We shall see!” 

The action, and the choked utterance of Cora, spoke 
more impressively than any words, and quickly drew 
the attention of her companions on that spot where 
her own was riveted with an intenseness that nothing 
but the importance of the stake could create. 

When Magua reached the cluster of lolling savages, 
who, gorged with their disgusting meal, lay stretched 
on the earth in brutal indulgence , 3 he commenced 
speaking with the dignity 4 of an Indian chief. The 
first syllables he uttered had the effect to cause his 
li teners to raise themselves in attitudes of respectful 
attention. As the Huron used his native language, 
the prisoners, notwithstanding the caution of the 
natives had kept them within the swing of their toma¬ 
hawks, could only conjecture the substance of his 
harangue from the nature of those significant gestures 
with which an Indian always illustrates his elo¬ 
quence. 

3 In the first edition “a sort of brutal indulgence,” 

4 In the first edition ‘‘utmost dignity.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


145 


At first the language, as well as the action of Magua, 
appeared calm and deliberate. When he had succeed¬ 
ed in sufficiently awakening the attention of his com¬ 
rades, Heyward fancied, by his pointing so frequently 
toward the direction of the great lake, that he spoke 
of the land of their fathers, and of their distant 
tribe. Frequent indications of applause escaped the 
listeners, who, as they uttered the expressive “Hugh!” 
looked at each other in open commendation of the 
speaker. Le Renard was too skilful to neglect his 
advantage. He now spoke of the long and painful 
route by which they had left those spacious hunting- 
grounds and happy villages, to come and battle against 
the enemies of their Canadian fathers. He enumer¬ 
ated the warriors of the party; their several merits; 
their frequent services to the nation; their wounds, 
and the number of the scalps they had taken. When¬ 
ever he alluded to any present (and the subtle Indian 
neglected none), the dark countenance of the flattered 
individual gleamed with exultation, nor did he even 
hesitate to assert the truth of the words by gestures 
of applause and confirmation. Then the voice of the 
speaker fell, and lost the loud, animated tones of 
triumph with which he had enumerated their deeds 
of success and victory. He described the cataracts 
of Glenn’s; the impregnable position of its rocky 
island, with its caverns and its numerous encircling 
rapids and whirlpools: he named the name of “La 
Longue Carabine,” and paused until the forest be¬ 
neath them had sent up the last echo of a loud and 
long yell, with which the hated appellation was re¬ 
ceived. He pointed toward the youthful military 
captive, and described the death of a favorite warrior 
who had been precipitated into the deep ravine by 
his hand. He not only mentioned the fate of him 
who, hanging between heaven and earth, had present¬ 
ed such a spectacle of horror to the whole band, but 


146 The Last of the Mohicans 

he acted anew the terrors of the situation, his reso¬ 
lution and his death, on the branches of a sapling; 
and, finally, he rapidly recounted the manner in which 
each of their friends had fallen, never failing to 
touch upon their courage, and their most acknowl¬ 
edged virtues. When this recital of events was ended, 
his voice once more changed, and became plaintive 
and even musical, in its low guttural sounds . 5 He 
now spoke of the wives and children of the slain; 
their destitution; their misery, both physical and 
moral; their distance; and at last, of their unavenged 
wrongs. Then suddenly lifting his voice to a pitch of 
terrific energy, he concluded by demanding: 

“Are the Hurons dogs to bear this? Who shall 
say to the wife of Menowgua that the fishes have 
his scalp, and that his nation has not taken revenge! 
Who will dare meet the mother of Wassawattimie, that 
scornful woman, with his hands clean! What shall 
be said to the old men when they ask us for scalps, 
and we have not a hair from a white head to give 
them! The women will point their fingers at us. 
There is a dark spot on the names of the Hurons, 
and it must be hid in blood!" 

His voice was no longer audible in the burst of 
rage which now broke into the air, as if the wood, in¬ 
stead of containing so small a band, was filled with 
the nation. During the foregoing address the prog¬ 
ress of the speaker was too plainly read by those most 
interested in his success through the medium of the 
countenances of the men he addressed. They had 
answered his melancholy and mourning by sympathy 
and sorrow; his assertions, by gestures of confirma¬ 
tion; and his boastings, with the exultation of savages. 
When he spoke of courage, their looks were firm and 
responsive; when he alluded to their injuries, their 
eyes kindled with fury; when he mentioned the taunts 


5 In the first edition “low soft guttural sounds.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


147 


of women, they dropped their heads in shame; but 
when he pointed out their means of vengeance, he 
struck a chord which never failed to thrill in the 
breast of an Indian. With the first intimation that 
it was within their reach, the whole band sprang upon 
their feet as one man; giving utterance to their rage 
in the most frantic cries they rushed upon their 
prisoners in a body with drawn knives and uplifted 
t/omahawks. Heyward threw himself between the 
sisters and the foremost, whom he grappled with a 
desperate strength that for a moment checked his 
violence. This unexpected resistance gave Magua 
time to interpose, and with rapid enunciation and 
animated gesture, he drew the attention of the band 
^again to himself. In that language he knew so well 
how to assume, he diverted his comrades from their 
instant purpose, and invited them to prolong the 
misery of their victims. His proposal was received 
with acclamations, and executed with the swiftness 
of thought. 

Two powerful warriors cast themselves together on 
Heyward, while another was occupied in securing 
the less active singing-master. Neither of the cap¬ 
tives, however, submitted without a desperate strug¬ 
gle. Even David hurled his assailant to the earth; 
nor was ’Heyward secured, until the victory over his 
companion enabled the Indians to direct their united 
force to that object. He was then bound and fastened 
to the body of the sapling, on whose branches Magua 
had acted the pantomime of the falling Huron. When 
the young soldier regained his recollection, he had the 
painful certainty before his eyes, that a common fate 
was intended for the whole party. On his right was 
Cora, in a durance similar to his own, pale and agi¬ 
tated, but with an eye whose steady look still read 
the proceedings of their enemies. On the left, the 
withes which bound her to a pine performed that 


148 


The Last of the Mohicans 


office for Alice which her trembling limbs refused, 
and alone kept her lovely but fragile form from sink¬ 
ing to the ground. Her hands were clasped before 
her in prayer; but instead of looking upward to that 
Power which alone could rescue them, her unconscious 
looks wandered to the countenance of Duncan, with 
a species of infantile dependency. David had con¬ 
tended; and the novelty of the circumstance held him 
silent, in deliberation of the propriety of the unusual 
occurrence. 

The vengeance of the Hurons had now taken a 
new direction, and they prepared to execute it with 
all that barbarous ingenuity with which they were 
familiarized by the practice of centuries. Some 
sought knots, to raise the blazing pile: one was riving 
the splinters of pine, in order to pierce the flesh of* 
their captives with the burning fragments; and others 
bent the tops of two saplings to earth, in order to sus¬ 
pend Heyward by the arms between the recoiling 
branches. But the vengeance of Magua sought a 
deeper and more malignant enjoyment. 

While the less refined monsters of the band pre¬ 
pared before the eyes of those who were to suffer, 
these well known and vulgar means of torture, he 
approached Cora, »and pointed out, with the most 
malign expression of countenance the speedy fate 
that awaited her— 

“Ha!” he added, “what says the daughter of Munro? 
Her head is too good to find a pillow in the wigwam 
of Le Renard. Will she like it better when it rolls 
about this hill a plaything for the wolves? Her bosom 
cannot nurse the children of a Huron. She will see 
it spit upon by Indians!” 

“What means this monster!” demanded the aston¬ 
ished Heyward. 

“Nothing!” was the firm reply. “He is a savage, 
a barbarous and ignorant savage, and knows not 


The Last of the Mohicans 


149 


what he does. Let us find leisure, with our dying 
breath, to ask for him penitence and pardon.” 

“Pardon!” echoed the fierce Huron, mistaking, in 
his anger, the meaning of her words. “The memory 
of an Indian is longer than the arm of the pale-faces; 
his mercy shorter than their justice! Say; shall I 
send the yellow-hair to her father, and will you follow 
Magua to the great lakes, to carry his water, and feed 
him with corn?” 

Cora beckoned him away, with an emotion of dis¬ 
gust she could not control. 

“Leave me,” she said, with a solemnity that for a 
moment checked the barbarity of the Indian. “You 
mingle bitterness in my prayers; you stand between 
me and my God!” 

The slight impression produced on the savage was, 
however, soon forgotten, and he continued pointing, 
with taunting irony, toward Alice. 

“Look! the child weeps! She is young to die! Send 
her to Munro, to comb his gray hairs, and keep life 
in the heart of the old man.” 

Cora could not resist the desire to look upon her 
youthful sister, in whose eyes she met an imploring 
glance, that betrayed the longing of nature. 

“What says he, dearest Cora?” asked the trembling 
voice of Alice. “Did he speak of sending me to our 
father?” 

For many moments the elder sister looked upon 
the younger with a countenance that wavered with 
powerful and contending emotions. At length she 
spoke, though her tones had lost their rich and calm 
fulness, in an expression of tenderness, that seemed 
maternal. 

“Alice,” she said, “the Huron offers us both life— 
nay, more than both; he offers to restore Duncan— 
our invaluable Duncan, as well as you, to our friends— 
to our father, to our heart-stricken, childless father, 



150 


The Last of the Mohicans 


if I will bow down this rebellious stubborn pride of 
mine, and consent—” 

Her voice became choked, and clasping her hands, 
she looked upward, as if seeking, in her agony, intelli¬ 
gence from a wisdom that was infinite. 

“Say on,” cried Alice, “to what, dearest Cora? Oh, 
that the proffer were made to me! to save you, to 
cheer our aged father, to restore Duncan, how cheer¬ 
fully could I die!” 

“Die!” repeated Cora, with a calmer and a firmer 
voice, “that were easy. Perhaps the alternative may 
not be less so. He would have me,” she continued, 
her accents sinking under a deep consciousness of the 
degradation of the proposal, “follow him to the wil¬ 
derness; to go to the habitation of the Hurons; to 
remain there; in short to become his wife! Speak 
then, Alice, child of my affections! sister of my love! 
And you too, Major Heyward, aid my weak reason 
with your counsel. Is life to be purchased with such 
a sacrifice? Will you Alice, receive it at my hand, 
at such a price? And you, Duncan; guide me; con¬ 
trol me betweep you; for I am wholly yours.” 

“Would I,” echoed the indignant and astonished 
youth. “Cora, Cora! you jest with our misery! Name 
not the horrid alternative again; the thought itself 
is worse than a thousand deaths.” 

“That such would be your answer, I well knew!” 
exclaimed Cora, her cheeks flushing, and her dark eyes 
once more sparkling with the lingering emotions of 
a woman. “What says my Alice? To her will I sub¬ 
mit without another murmur.” 

Although both Heyward and Cora listened with 
painful suspense and the deepest attention, no sounds 
were heard in reply. It appeared as if the delicate 
and sensitive form of Alice would shrink into itself, 
as she listened to this proposal. Her arms had fallen 
lengthwise before her, the fingers moving in slight 


The Last of the Mohicans 


151 


convulsions; her head dropped upon her bosom; and 
her whole person seemed suspended against the tree, 
looking like some beautiful emblem of the wounded 
delicacy of her sex, devoid of animation, and yet keen¬ 
ly conscious. In a few moments, however, her head 
began to move slowly, in a sign of deep unconquer¬ 
able disapprobation . 6 

“No, no, no. Better that we die as we have lived, 
together l” 

“Then die!” shouted Magua, hurling his tomahawk 
with violence at the unresisting speaker, and gnashing 
his teeth with a rage that could no longer be bridled, 
at this sudden exhibition of firmness in the one he 
believed the weakest of the party. The axe cleaved 
the air in front of Heyward, and cutting some of the 
flowing ringlets of Alice, quivered in the tree above 
her head. The sight maddened Duncan to despera¬ 
tion. Collecting all of his energies in one effort, he 
snapped the twigs which bound him and rushed upon 
another savage, who was preparing with loud yells, 
and a more deliberate aim, to repeat the blow. They 
encountered, grappled, and fell to the earth together. 
The naked body of his antagonist afforded Heyward 
no means of holding his adversary, who glided from 
his grasp, and rose again with one knee on his chest, 
pressing him down with the weight of a giant. Duncan 
already saw the knife gleaming in the air, when a 
whistling sound swept past him, and was rather ac¬ 
companied, than followed, by the sharp crack of a 
rifle. He felt his breast relieved from the load it 
had endured; he saw the savage expression of his ad¬ 
versary’s countenance change to a look of vacant wild- 


followed in the first edition by “and by the time the flush 
of maiden pride had diffused itself over her fine features, 
and her eye had lighted with the feelings which oppressed 
her, she found strength to murmur.” 





152 


T*he Last of the Mohicans 


ness, when the Indian fell dead on the faded leaves 
by his side . 7 


T In the first edition, “and then fell prostrate and dead. 1 




CHAPTER XII 


‘*1 am gone, sir, 

And anon, sir, 

I’ll be with you again.” 

— Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, IV, ii. 

The Hurons stood aghast at this sudden visita¬ 
tion of death on one of their band. But, as they 
regarded the fatal accuracy of an aim which had dared 
to immolate an enemy at so much hazard to a friend, 
the name of “La Longue Carabine” burst simulta¬ 
neously from every lip, and was succeeded by a wild 
and a sort of plaintive howl. The cry was answered 
by a loud shout from the thicket, where the incautious 
party had piled their arms; and the next moment 
Hawkeye, too eager to load the rifle he had regained, 
was seen advancing upon them, brandishing the clubbed 
weapon and cutting the air with wide and power¬ 
ful sweeps. Bold and rapid as was the progress of 
the scout, it was exceeded by that of a light and vigor¬ 
ous form which, bounding past him, leaped; with in¬ 
credible activity and daring, into the very center of 
the Hurons, where it stood, whirling a tomahawk and 
flourishing a glittering knife, with fearful menaces, in 
front of Cora. Quicker than the thoughts could fol¬ 
low these unexpected and audacious movements, an 
image, armed in the emblematic panoply of death , 1 
stole, with the imaginary glidings of a specter, be¬ 
fore their eyes, and assumed a threatening attitude 
at the other side. The savage tormentors recoiled be¬ 
fore these warlike intruders, and uttered, as they ap¬ 
peared in such quick succession, the often repeated 
and peculiar exclamation of surprise, followed by the 
well known and dreaded appellations of— 


See III, note 1 


[ 153 ] 



154 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Le Cerf Agile! Le Gros Serpent!” 

But the wary and vigilant leader of the Hurons 
was not so easily disconcerted. Casting his keen 
eyes around the little plain, he comprehended the 
nature of the assault at a glance, and encouraging 
his followers by his voice, as well as by his example, 
he unsheathed his long and dangerous knife, and 
rushed, with a loud whoop, upon the expecting Chin- 
gachgook. It was the signal for a general combat. 
Neither party had firearms, and the contest was to 
be decided in the deadliest manner; hand to hand, 
with weapons of offense, and none of defense. 

Uncas answered the whoop, and leaping on an 
enemy, with a single, well-directed blow of his toma¬ 
hawk, cleft him to the brain. Heyward tore the weap¬ 
on of Magua from the sapling, and rushed eagerly 
towards the fray. As the combatants were now equal 
in number, each singled an opponent from the ad¬ 
verse band. The rush and blows passed with the 
fury of a whirlwind, and the swiftness of lightning. 
Hawkeye soon got another enemy within reach of his 
arm, and with one sweep of his formidable weapon, 
he beat down the slight and inartificial defenses of 
his antagonist, crushing him to the earth with the 
weight of his blow. Heyward ventured to hurl the 
tomahawk he had seized, too ardent to await the 
moment of closing. It struck the Indian he had se¬ 
lected on the forehead, and checked for an instant 
his onward rush. Encouraged by this slight ad¬ 
vantage, the impetuous young man continued his 
onset, and sprang upon his enemy with naked hands. 
A single instant was sufficient to assure him of the 
rashness of the measure, for he immediately found 
himself fully engaged with all his activity and cour¬ 
age, in endeavoring to ward the desperate thrusts 
made with the knife of the Huron. Unable longer 
to foil an enemy so alert and vigilant, he threw his 


The Last of the Mohicans 


155 


arms about him, and succeeded in pinning the limbs 
of the other to his side, with an iron grasp, but one 
that was far too exhausting to himself to continue 
long. In this extremity he heard a voice near him 
shouting— 

“Exterminate the varlets! No quarter to an ac¬ 
cursed Mingo!” 

At the next moment, the breech of Hawkeye’s rifle 
fell on the naked head of his adversary, whose muscles 
appeared to wither under the shock, as he sunk from 
the arms of Duncan, flexible and motionless. 

When Uncas had brained his first antagonist, he 
turned, like a hungry lion, to seek another. The fifth 
and only Huron disengaged at the first onset had 
paused a moment, and then seeing that all around 
him were employed in the deadly strife, he had sought, 
with hellish vengeance, to complete the baffled work 
of revenge. Raising a shout of triumph, he had 
sprung towards the defenseless Cora, sending his 
keen axe, as the dreadful precursor of his approach. 
The tomahawk grazed her shoulder, and cutting the 
withes which bound her to the tree, left the maiden 
at liberty to fly. She eluded the grasp of the savage, 
and reckless of her own safety, threw herself on the 
bosom of Alice, striving, with convulsed and ill- 
directed fingers, to tear asunder the twigs which 
confined the person of her sister. Any other than 
a monster would have relented at such an act of 
generous devotion to the best and purest affection; 
but the breast of the Huron was a stranger to any 
sympathy in the moments of his fury. Seizing Cora 
by the rich tresses which fell in glossy confusion 
about her form, he tore her from her frantic hold, 
and bowed her down with brutal violence to her knees. 
The savage drew the flowing curls through his hand, 
and raising them on high with an outstretched arm, 
he passed the knife around the exquisitely molded 


156 


The Last of the Mohicans 


head of his victim, with a taunting and exulting 
laugh. But he purchased this moment of fierce grat¬ 
ification with the loss of the fatal opportunity. It 
was just then the sight caught the eye of Uncas. 
Bounding from his footsteps he appeared for an 
instant darting through the air, and descending in a 
ball he fell on the chest of his enemy, driving him 
many yards from the spot, headlong and prostrate. 
The violence of the exertion cast the young Mohican 
at his side. They arose together, fought, and bled, 
each in his turn. But the conflict was soon decided. 
The tomahawk of Heyward and the rifle of Hawkeye 
descended on the skull of the Huron, at the same 
moment that the knife of Uncas reached his heart. 

The battle was now entirely terminated, with the 
exception of the protracted struggle between Le 
Renard Subtil and Le Gros Serpent. Well did these 
barbarous warriors prove that they deserved those 
significant names which had been bestowed for deeds 
in former wars. When they engaged, some little 
time was lost in eluding the quick and vigorous thrusts 
which had been aimed at their lives . 2 Suddenly dart¬ 
ing on each other, they closed, and came to the earth, 
twisted together like twining serpents in pliant and 
subtle folds . 3 

At the moment when the victors found themselves 
unoccupied, the spot where these experienced and 
desperate combatants lay could only be distinguished 
by a cloud of dust and leaves, which moved from the 
center of the little plain toward its boundary, as if 
raised by the passage of a whirlwind. Urged by the 
different motives of filial affection, friendship, and 
gratitude, Heyward and his companions rushed with 
one accord to the place, encircling the little canopy 

2 In the first edition “tlieir several lives.” 

3 There is no paragraph at this point in the first edition. 




The Last of the Mohicans 


157 


of dust 4 which hung above the warriors. In vain 
did Uncas dart around the cloud, with a wish to strike 
his knife into the heart of his father’s foe; the threat¬ 
ening rifle of Hawkeye was raised and suspended in 
vain, while Duncan endeavored to seize the limbs of 
the Huron with hands that appeared to have lost 
their power. Covered as they were with dust and 
blood, the swift evolutions of the combatants seemed 
to incorporate their bodies into one. The death-like 
looking figure of the Mohican, and the dark form of 
the Huron, gleamed before their eyes in such quick 
and confused succession, that the friends of the for¬ 
mer knew not where to plant the succoring blow. It 
is true there were short and fleeting moments, when 
the fiery eyes of Magua were seen glittering, like the 
fabled organs of the basilisk, through the dusty 
wreath by which he was enveloped, and he read by 
those short and deadly glances the fate of the combat 
in the presence of his enemies ; 5 ere, however, any 
hostile hand could descend on his head , 5 its place was 
filled by the scowling visage of Chingachgook. In 
this manner the scene of the combat was removed 
from the center of the little plain to its verge. The 
Mohican now found an opportunity to make a power¬ 
ful thrust with his knife. Magua suddenly relin¬ 
quished his grasp, and fell backward without motion, 
and seemingly without life. His adversary leaped on 
his feet, making the arches of the forest ring with 
the sounds of his shout of triumph. 

“Well done for the Delawares! victory to the Mo¬ 
hican!” cried Hawkeye, once more elevating the butt 
of the long and fatal rifle. “A finishing blow from a 

4 The words “of dust” are not in the first edition. 

5 In the first edition “in the hated countenance and in the 
presence.” 

‘'Tn the first edition “on his devoted head.” 



158 


The Last of the Mohicans 


man without a cross, will never tell against his honor, 
nor rob him of his right to the scalp!” 

But, at the very moment when the dangerous weap¬ 
on was in the act of descending, the subtle Huron 
rolled swiftly from beneath the danger, over the edge 
of the precipice, and falling on his feet, was seen 
leaping with a single bound into the center of a 
thicket of low bushes, which clung along its sides. 
The Delawares, who had believed their enemy dead, 
uttered their exclamation of surprise, and were fol¬ 
lowing with speed and clamor, like hounds in open 
view of the deer, when a shrill and peculiar cry from 
the scout, instantly changed their purpose, and re¬ 
called them to the summit of the hill. 

“ ’Twas like himself!” cried the inveterate forester, 
whose prejudices contributed so largely to veil his 
natural sense of justice in all matters which con¬ 
cerned the Mingoes, “a lying and deceitful varlet as 
he is! An honest Delaware now, being fairly van¬ 
quished, would have lain 7 still and been knocked on 
the head, but these knavish Maquas cling to life like 
so many cats-o’-the-mountain . 8 Let him go—let him 
go; ’tis but one man, and he without either rifle or 
bow, many a long mile from his French commerades ; 9 
and, like a rattler that has lost his fangs, he can do 
no farther mischief until such time as he, and we 
too, may leave the prints of our moccasins over a long 
reach of sandy plain. See, Uncas,” he added, in 
Delaware, “your father is flaying the scalps already! 
It may be well to go round and feel the vagabonds 
that are left, or we may have another of them loping 

7 The first edition had “laid,” later corrected. 

“Catamounts or catamountains. 

9 Late editions often change this spelling to “comrades.” 
But the form with a middle vowel is a mark of the scout's 
dialect. Compare present-day nouns with intrusive transi¬ 
tional vowels, like “burgular,” “Henery,” “fillum,” etc. 




The Last of the Mohicans 


159 


through the woods, and screeching like any jay that 
has been winged!” 

So saying, the honest, but implacable scout made 
the circuit of the dead, into whose senseless bosoms 
he thrust his long knife, with as much coolness as 
though they had been so many brute carcasses. He 
had, however, been anticipated by the elder Mohican, 
who had already torn the emblems of victory from 
the unresisting heads of the slain. 

But Uncas, denying his habits, we had almost said 
his nature, flew with instinctive delicacy, accompanied 
by Heyward, to the assistance of the females , 10 and 
quickly releasing Alice, placed her in the arms of 
Cora. We shall not attempt to describe the gratitude 
to the Almighty Disposer of events which glowed in 
the bosoms of the sisters, who were thus unexpectedly 
restored to life and to each other. Their thanksgiv¬ 
ings were deep and silent; the offerings of their gentle 
spirits, burning brightest and purest on the secret 
altars of their hearts; and their renovated and more 
earthly feelings exhibiting themselves in long and 
fervent, though speechless caresses. As Alice rose 
from her knees, where she had sunk 11 by the side of 
Cora, she threw herself on the bosom of the latter, 
and sobbed aloud the name of their aged father, while 
her soft, dove-like eyes sparkled with the rays of 
hope . 12 

“We are saved! we are saved!” she murmured, “to 
return to the arms of our dear, dear father, and his 
heart will not be broken with grief. And you too, 

,0 In the first editions “sisters.” In the next sentence 
“lovely maidens” appeared instead of “sisters.” 

“In the first edition' “had sunken.” 

12 In the first edition “rays of revived hope, the intelli¬ 
gence with which they beamed partaking more of the 
ethereal than of any expression which might belong to 
human infirmity.” 



160 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Cora, my sister; my more than sister, my mother; 
you too are spared. And Duncan,” she added, looking 
round upon the youth with a smile of ineffable inno¬ 
cence , 13 “even our own brave and noble Duncan has 
escaped without a hurt.” 

To these ardent and nearly incoherent words Cora 
made no other answer than by straining the youthful 
speaker to her heart, as she bent over her, in melting 
tenderness. The manhood of Heyward felt no shame 
in dropping tears over this spectacle of affectionate 
rapture; and Uncas stood, fresh and blood-stained 
from the combat, a calm, and, apparently, an unmoved 
looker-on, it is true, but with eyes that had already 
lost their fierceness, and were beaming with a sym¬ 
pathy that elevated him far above the intelligence, 
and advanced him probably centuries before the prac¬ 
tises of his nation. 

During this display of emotions so natural in their 
situation, Hawkeye, whose vigilant distrust had sat¬ 
isfied itself that the Hurons, who disfigured the 
heavenly scene, no longer possessed the power to in¬ 
terrupt its harmony, approached David, and liberated 
him from the bonds he had, until that moment, en¬ 
dured with the most exemplary patience. 

“There,” exclaimed the scout, casting the last w 7 ithe 
behind him, “you are once more master of your own 
limbs, though you seem not to use them with greater 
judgment than that in which they were first fashioned. 
If advice from one who is not older than yourself, 
but who, having lived most of his time in the wilder¬ 
ness, may be said to have experienced beyond his years, 
will give no offense, you are welcome to my thoughts; 
and these are, to part with the little tooting instrument 
in your jacket to the first fool you meet with, and buy 
some useful we’pon with the money, if it be only the 
barrel of a horseman’s pistol. By industry and care, 


"in the first edition “ineffable purity and innocence.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


161 


you might thus come to some prefarment; for by this 
time, I should think, your eyes would plainly tell you 
that a carrion crow is a better bird than a mocking 
thresher. The one will, at least, remove foul sights 
from before the face of man, while the other is only 
good to brew disturbances in the woods, by cheating 
the ears of all that hear them.” 

“Arms and the clarion for the battle, but the song 
of thanksgiving to the victory!” answered the lib¬ 
erated David. “Friend,” he added, thrusting forth 
his lean, delicate hand toward Hawkeye, in kindness, 
while his eyes twinkled and grew moist, “I thank 
thee that the hairs of my head still grow where they 
were first rooted by Providence; for, though those of 
other men may be more glossy and curling, I have 
ever found mine own comfortable, and well suited to 
the brain they shelter. That I did not join myself to 
the battle, was less owing to disinclination than to 
the bonds of the heathen. Valiant and skilful hast 
thou proved thyself in the conflict, and I hereby thank 
thee, before proceeding to discharge other and more 
important duties, because thou hast proved thyself 
well worthy of a Christian’s praise!” 

“The thing is but a trifle, and what you may often 
see if you tarry long among us,” returned the scout, 
a good deal softened in his feelings toward the man 
of song, by this unequivocal expression of his grati¬ 
tude. “I have got back my old companion, ‘Kill- 
deer,’ ” he added, striking his hand on the breech of 
his rifle, “and that in itself is a victory. These Iro¬ 
quois are cunning, but they outwitted themselves when 
they placed all their firearms out of reach; and had 
Uncas or his father been gifted with only their com¬ 
mon Indian patience, we should have come in upon 
the knaves with three bullets instead of one, and that 
would have made a finish of the whole pack; yon 


162 


The Last of the Mohicans 


loping varlet as well as his commerades. But ’twas 
all foreordered, and for the best!” 

“Thou sayest well,” returned David, “and hast 
caught the true spirit of Christianity. He that is to 
be saved will be saved, and he that is predestined to 
be damned will be damned! This is the doctrine of 
truth, and most consoling and refreshing is it to the 
true believer.” 

The scout, who by this time was seated, examining 
into the state of his rifle with a species of parental 
assiduity, now looked up at the other in a displeasure 
that he did not affect to conceal, roughly interrupting 
further speech. 

“Doctrine or no doctrine,” said the sturdy woods¬ 
man, “ ’tis the belief of knaves, and the curse of an 
honest man. I can credit that yonder Huron was to 
fall by my hand, for with my own eyes I have seen 
it; but nothing short of being a witness, will cause 
me to think he has met with any reward, or that 
Chingachgook, there, will be condemned at the final 
day.” 

“You have no warranty for such an audacious doc¬ 
trine, nor any covenant to support it,” cried David, 
who was deeply tinctured with the subtle distinctions 
which, in his time, and more especially in his province, 
had been drawn around the beautiful simplicity of 
revelation, by endeavoring to penetrate the awful 
mystery of the divine nature, supplying faith by self- 
sufficiency, and, by consequence, involving those who 
reasoned from such human dogmas in absurdities and 
doubt. “Your temple is reared on the sands, and the 
first tempest will wash away its foundation. I de¬ 
mand your authorities for such an uncharitable as¬ 
sertion. (Like other advocates of a system, David 
was not always accurate in his use of terms.) Name 
chapter and verse. In which of the holy books do 
you find language to support you?” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


163 


“Book!” repeated Hawkeye, with singular and ill- 
concealed disdain. “Do you take me for a whimpering 
boy at the apron string 14 of one of your old gals; and 
this good rifle on my knee for the feather of a goose’s 
wing, my ox’s horn for a bottle of ink, and my leath¬ 
ern pouch for a cross-barred handkercher to carry my 
dinner? 1 " Book! what have such as I, who am a war¬ 
rior of the wilderness, though a man without a cross, 
to do with books? I never read but in one, and the 
words that are written there are too simple and too 
plain to need much schooling; though I may boast that 
of forty long and hard-working years.” 

“What call you the volume?” said David, miscon¬ 
ceiving the other’s meaning. 

“ ’Tis open before your eyes,” returned the scout, 
“and he who owns it is not a niggard of its use. I 
have heard it said, that there are men who read in 
books, to convince themselves there is a God! I know 
not but man may so deform his works in the settle¬ 
ments, as to leave that which is so clear in the wilder¬ 
ness a matter of doubt among traders and priests. 
If any such there be, and he will follow me from sun 
to sun, through the windings of the forest, he shall 
see enough to teach him that he is a fool, and that 
the greatest of his folly lies in striving to rise to 
the level of one he can never equal, be it in goodness, 
or be it in power.” 

The instant David discovered that he battled with a 
disputant who imbibed his faith from the lights of 
nature, eschewing all subtleties of doctrine, he will¬ 
ingly abandoned a controversy, from which, he be- 

r TF lias been conjectured that Cooper’s rebellion at his 
school life and at some of the tenets of New England 
Calvinism appear in this passage. 

15 In the first edition “for a cross-barred handkercher 
of yesterday’s dinner.” 



164 


The Last of the Mohicans 


lieved, neither profit nor credit was 18 to be derived. 
While the scout was speaking, he had also seated him¬ 
self, and, producing the ready little volume, and the 
iron-rimmed spectacles, he prepared to discharge a 
duty which nothing but the unexpected assault he had 
received in his orthodoxy could have so long sus^- 
pended. He was, in truth, a minstrel of the western 
continent, of a much later day, certainly, than those 
gifted bards, who formerly sung the profane renown 
of baron and prince, but after the spirit of his own 
age and country; and he was now prepared to exer¬ 
cise the cunning of his craft, in celebration of, or 
rather in thanksgiving for, the recent victory. He 
waited patiently for Hawkeye to cease, then lifting 
his eyes, together with his voice, he said aloud— 

“I invite you, friends, to join in praise for this 
signal deliverance from the hands of barbarians and 
infidels, to the comfortable and solemn tones of the 
tune, called 'Northhampton.’ ” 17 

He next named the page and verse where the 
rhymes selected were to be found, and applied the 
pitch-pipe to his lips, with the decent gravity that he 
had been wont to use in the temple. This time he 
was, however, without any accompaniment, for the 
sisters were just then pouring out those tender ef¬ 
fusions of affection which have been already alluded 
to. Nothing deterred by the smallness of his audi¬ 
ence, which, in truth, consisted only of the discon¬ 
tented scout, he raised his voice, commencing and 
ending the sacred song without accident or interrup¬ 
tion of any kind. 

Hawkeye listened, while he coolly adjusted his flint 
and reloaded his rifle; but the sounds, wanting the ex¬ 
traneous assistance of scene and sympathy, failed to 

1G In the first edition “were.” 

"See II, note 17. 




The Last of the Mohicans 


165 


awaken his slumbering emotions. Never minstrel, or 
by. whatever more suitable name David should be 
known, drew upon his talents in the presence of more 
insensible auditors; though considering the singleness 
and sincerity of his motive, it is probable that no 
bard of profane song ever uttered notes that ascended 
so near to that throne where all homage and praise 
is due . 18 The scout shook his head, and muttering 
some unintelligible words, among which “throat” and 
“Iroquois” were alone audible, he walked away, to col¬ 
lect, and to examine into, the state of the captured 
arsenal of the Hurons. In this office he was now 
joined by Chingachgook, who found his own, as well 
as the rifle of his son, among the arms. Even Hey¬ 
ward and David were furnished with weapons; nor 
was ammunition wanting to render them all effectual. 

When the foresters had made their selection, and 
distributed their prizes, the scout announced, openly, 
that the hour had arrived when it was necessary to 
move. By this time the song of Gamut had ceased, 
and the sisters had learned to still the exhibition of 
their emotions. Aided by Duncan and the young Mo¬ 
hican, the two latter descended the precipitous sides 
of that hill which they had so lately ascended under 
such very different auspices, and whose summit had so 
nearly proved the scene of their horrible massacre. 
At the foot they found their Narragansetts browsing 
the herbage of the bushes, and having mounted, they 
followed the movements of a guide, who, in the most 
deadly straits, had so often proved himself their 
friend. Their journey was, however, short. Hawk- 
eye, leaving the blind path that the Hurons had fol¬ 
lowed, turned short to his right, and entering the 
thicket, he crossed a babbling brook, and halted in a 
narrow dell, under the shade of a few water-elms. 
Their distance from the base of the fatal hill was 


18 In the first edition “most due.” 



166 


The Last of the Mohicans 


but a few rods, and the steeds had been serviceable 
to the maidens only in crossing the shallow stream. 

The scout and the Indians seemed to be familiar 
with the sequestered place where they now were; for, 
leaning their rifles against the trees, they commenced 
throwing aside the dried leaves, and opening the blue 
clay, out of which a clear and sparkling spring of 
bright, glancing water, quickly bubbled. The white 
man then looked about him, as though seeking for 
some object which was not to be found as readily as 
he expected. 

“Them careless imps, the Mohawks, with their Tus- 
carora and Onondaga brethren, have been here slaking 
their thirst,” he muttered, “and the vagabonds have 
thrown away the gourd! This is the way with bene¬ 
fits, when they are bestowed upon such disremember- 
ing hounds! Here has the Lord laid his hand, in the 
midst of the howling wilderness, for their good, and 
raised a fountain of water from the bowels of the 
’arth, that might laugh at the richest shop of apothe¬ 
cary’s ware in all the colonies; and see! the knaves 
have trodden in the clay, and deformed the cleanliness 
of the place, as though they were brute beasts, instead 
of human men !” 19 

Uncas silently extended towards him the desired 
gourd, which the spleen of Hawkeye had hitherto pre¬ 
vented him from observing on a branch 20 of an elm. 
Filling it with water, he retired a short distance, to a 
place where the ground was more firm and dry. There 
he coolly seated himself, and after taking a long, and, 
apparently, a grateful draught, he commenced a very 
strict examination of the fragments of food left by 
the Hurons, which had hung in a wallet on his arm. 

“Thank you, lad!” he continued, returning the 

1B See Y, note 9. 

20 Preeeded by “suspended with sufficient care'’ in the 
first edition. 




The Last of the Mohicans 


167 


empty gourd to Uncas. “Now we will see how these 
rampaging Hurons lived, when outlying in the am- 
bushments. Look at this! The varlets know the bet¬ 
ter pieces of the deer; and one would think they 
might carve and roast a saddle, equal to the best 
cook in the land! But everything is raw, for the 
Iroquois are thorough savages. Uncas, take my steel / 1 
and kindle a fire; a mouthful of a tender broil will 
give nature a helping hand, after so long a trail.” 

Heyward, perceiving that their guides now set 
about their repast in sober earnest, assisted the 
ladies to alight, and placed himself at their side, not 
unwilling to enjoy a few moments of grateful rest, 
after the bloody scene he had just gone through. 
While the culinary process was in hand, curiosity in¬ 
duced him to inquire into the circumstances which 
had led to their timely and unexpected rescue— 

“How is it that we see you so soon, my generous 
friend,” he asked, “and without aid from the garri¬ 
son of Edward?” 

“Had we gone to the bend in the river, we might 
have been in time to rake the leaves over your bodies, 
but too late to have saved your scalps,” coolly an¬ 
swered the scout. “No, no; instead of throwing away 
strength and opportunity by crossing to the fort, we 
lay by, under the bank of the Hudson, waiting to 
watch the movements of the Hurons.” 

“You were, then, witnesses of all that passed?” 

“Not of all; for Indian sight is too keen to be easily 
cheated, and we kept close. A difficult matter it was, 
too, to keep this Mohican boy snug in the ambush- 
ment. Ah! Uncas, Uncas, your behavior was more 
like that of a curious woman than of a warrior on 
his scent.” 

Uncas permitted his eyes to turn for an instant on 

Flint and steel were used to kindle fires for matches 
had not yet been invented. 



168 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the sturdy countenance of the speaker, but he neither 
spoke nor gave any indication of repentance . 22 On 
the contrary, Heyward thought the manner of the 
young Mohican was disdainful, if not a little fierce, 
and that he suppressed passions that were ready to 
explode, as much in compliment to the listeners, as 
from the deference he usually paid to his white as¬ 
sociate. 

‘‘You saw our capture ?” Heyward next demanded. 

“We heard it,” was the significant answer. “An 
Indian yell is plain language to men who have passed 
their days in the woods. But when you landed, we 
were driven to crawl like sarpents, beneath the leaves, 
and then we lost sight of you entirely, until we placed 
eyes on you again trussed to the trees, and ready 
bound for an Indian massacre.” 

“Our rescue was the deed of Providence. It was 
nearly a miracle that you did not mistake the path, for 
the Hurons divided, and each band had its horses.” 

“Aye! there we were thrown off the scent, and 
might indeed have lost the trail, had it not been for 
Uncas,” returned the scout, with the tone and man¬ 
ner of a man who recalled all the embarrassment of 
the past moment. “We took the path, however, that 
led into the wilderness; for we judged, and judged 
rightly, that the savages would hold that course with 
their prisoners. But when we had followed it for 
many miles, without finding a single twig broken, as 
I had advised, my mind misgave me, especially as all 
the footsteps had the prints of moccasins.” 

“Our captors had the precaution to see us shod like 
themselves,” said Duncan, raising a foot, and exhibit¬ 
ing the gaily ornamented buskin he wore. 

“Aye! ’twas judgmatical, and like themselves, 
though we were too expart to be thrown from a trail 
by so common an invention.” 


22 In the first edition “repentance for his error.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


169 


“To what then are we indebted for our safety?” 

“To what, as a white man who has no taint of In¬ 
dian blood, I should be ashamed to own; to the judg¬ 
ment of the young Mohican in matters which I should 
know better than he, but which I can now hardly be¬ 
lieve to be true, though my own eyes tell me it is so.” 

“ ’Tis extraordinary! will you not name the rea¬ 
son?” 

“Uncas was bold enough to say that the beasts 
ridden by the gentle ones,” continued Hawkeye, glanc¬ 
ing his eyes, not without curious interest, on the 
sorrel fillies of the ladies, “planted the legs of one 
side on the ground at the same time, which is con¬ 
trary to the movements of all trotting four-footed 
animals of my knowledge, except the bear! And yet 
here are horses that always journey in this manner, 
as my own eyes have seen, and as their trail has 
shown for twenty long miles.” 

“ ’Tis the merit of the animal! They come from 
the shores of Narragansett Bay, in the small prov¬ 
ince of Providence Plantations, and are celebrated 
for their hardihood, and the ease of this peculiar 
movement, though other horses are not unfrequently 
trained to the same.” 

“It may be—it may be,” said Hawkeye, who had lis- . 
tened with singular attention to this explanation; 
“though I am a man who has the full blood of the 
whites, my judgment in deer and beaver is greater 
than in beasts of burden. Major Effingham 23 has many 
noble chargers, but I have never seen one travel after 
such a sideling gait.” 

“True; for he would value the animals for very 
different properties. Still is this a breed highly es¬ 
teemed, and as you witness, much honored with the 
burdens it is often destined to bear.” 

The Mohicans had suspended their operations 


^Mentioned also in chapters IV and XIV. 



170 


The Last of the Mohicans 


about the glimmering fire, to listen; and when Dun¬ 
can had done, they looked at each other significantly, 
the father uttering the never-failing exclamation of 
surprise. The scout ruminated, like a man digest¬ 
ing his newly acquired knowledge, and once more 
stole a curious glance at the horses . 24 

“I dare to say there are even stranger sights to 
be seen in the settlements!” he said, at length. “Natur 
is sadly abused by man, when he once gets the 
mastery. But go sideling or go straight, Uncas had 
seen the movement, and their trail led us on to the 
broken bush. The outer branch, near the prints of 
one of the horses, was bent upward, as a lady breaks 
a flower from its stem, but all the rest were 
ragged and broken down, as if the strong hand of 
a man had been tearing them! So I concluded that 
the cunning varmints had seen the twig bent, and 
had torn the rest, to make us believe a buck had been 
feeling the boughs with his antlers.” 

“I do believe your sagacity did not deceive you; 
for some such thing occurred!” 

“That was easy to see,” added the scout, in no de¬ 
gree conscious of having exhibited any extraordinary 
sagacity, “and a very different matter it was from 
a waddling horse! It then struck me the Mingoes 
would push for this spring, for the knaves well know 
the vartue of its waters!” 

“Is it, then, so famous?” demanded Heyward, ex¬ 
amining, with a more curious eye, the secluded dell, 
with its bubbling fountain,' surrounded, as it was, 
by earth of a deep, dingy brown. 

“Few red-skins, who travel south and east of the 
great lake, but have heard of its qualities. Will you 
taste for yourself?” 

Heyward took the gourd, and after swallowing a 
little of the water, threw it aside with grimaces of 

24 The first edition added “before he continued.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


171 


discontent. The scout laughed, in his silent, but 
heartfelt manner, and shook his head with vast satis¬ 
faction, as he continued— 

“Ah! you want the flavor that one gets by habit. 
The time was when I liked it as little as yourself, 
but I have come to my taste, and now I crave it as 
a deer does the licks . 25 Your high spiced wines are 
not better liked than a red-skin relishes this water, 
especially when his natur is ailing. But Uncas has 
made his fire, and it is time we think of eating, 
for our journey is long and all before us.” 

Interrupting the dialogue by this abrupt transition, 
the scout had instant recourse to the fragments of 
food which had escaped the voracity of the Hurons. 
A very summary process completed the simple cook¬ 
ery, when he and the Mohicans commenced their 
humble meal, with the silence and characteristic dili¬ 
gence of men who ate in order to enable themselves 
to endure great and unremitting toil. 

When this necessary, and, happily, grateful duty 
had been performed, each of the foresters stooped 
and took a long and parting draught at that solitary 
and silent spring , 26 around which and its sister foun- 

25 Many of the animals of the American forests resort to 
those spots where salt springs are found. These are called 
“licks” or “salt licks,” in the language of the country, 
from the circumstance that the quadruped is often obli¬ 
gated to lick the earth, in order to obtain the saline par¬ 
ticles. These licks are great places of resort with the hunt¬ 
ers, who waylay their game near the paths that lead to 
them. [Cooper’s Note.] 

^The scene of the foregoing incidents is on the spot 
where the village of Ballston now stands; one of the two 
principal watering-places of America. [Cooper’s Note.] 

Ballston Springs was a fashionable resort early in the 
nineteenth century but was later replaced in popularity by 
Saratoga. There is considerable improbability that the 
scout’s party could reach Ballston, which is twenty-five 



172 


The Last of the Mohicans 


tains, within fifty years, the wealth, beauty, and 
talents of a hemisphere were to assemble in such 
throng’s, in pursuit of health and pleasure. Then 
Hawkeye announced his determination to proceed. 
The sisters resumed their saddles; Duncan and David 
grasped their rifles, and followed on their footsteps, 
the scout leading the advance, and the Mohicans 
bringing up the rear. The whole party moved swift¬ 
ly through the narrow path towards the north, leaving 
the healing waters to mingle unheeded with the ad¬ 
jacent brook, and the bodies of the dead to fester 
on the neighboring mount without the rites of sepul¬ 
ture, a fate but too common to the warriors of the 
woods to excite either commiseration or comment. 


miles from Glen’s Falls, in the time allowed. Magua 
smarted in the late forenoon. He had gone a long way and 
there had been delay at a stopping place, the rescue, and 
the return. But novelists often treat their materials free¬ 
ly for story purposes. 



CHAPTER XIII 


“I’ll seek a readier path.” 

—Parnell, A Niffht-Piece on Death. 

The route taken by Hawkeye lay across those 
sandy plains, relieved by occasional valleys and 
swells of land, which had been traversed by their 
party on the morning of the same day, with the baf¬ 
fled Magua for their guide. The sun had now fallen 
low towards the distant mountains; and as their 
journey lay through the interminable forest, the 
heat was no longer oppressive. Their progress, in 
consequence, was proportionate; and long before 
the twilight gathered about them, they had made 
a good many toilsome miles on their return . 1 

The hunter, like the savage whose place he filled, 
seemed to select among the blind signs of their wild 
route, with a species of instinct, seldom abating his 
speed, and never pausing to deliberate. A rapid and 
oblique glance at the moss on the trees, with an oc¬ 
casional upward gaze towards the setting sun, or a 
steady but passing look at the direction of the num¬ 
erous watercourses', through which he waded, were 
sufficient to determine his path, and remove his 
greatest difficulties. In the meantime, the forest 
began to change its hues, losing that lively green 
which had embellished its arches, in the graver 
light which is the usual precursor of the close of 
day. 

While the eyes of the sisters were endeavoring to 
catch gftmpses through the trees, of the flood of 
golden glory which formed a glittering halo around 
the sun, tingeing here and there with 1 ruby streaks, 
or bordering with narrow edgings of shining yel- 

’In the first edition “return path.” 

[ 173 ] 



174 


The Last of the Mohicans 


low, a mass of clouds that lay piled at no great 
distance above the western hills, Hawkeye turned 
suddenly, and, pointing upwards towards the gor¬ 
geous heavens, he spoke— 

“Yonder is the signal given to a man to seek his 
food and natural rest,” he said. “Better and wiser 
would it be, if he could understand the signs of 
nature, and take a lesson from the fowls of the air 
and the beasts of the fields! Our night, however, 
will soo ( n be over; for, with the moon, we must be 
up and moving again. I remember to have fou’t the 
Maquas hereaways, in the first war in which I ever 
drew blood from man; and we threw up a work of 
blocks, to keep the ravenous varmints" from hand¬ 
ling our scalps. If my marks do not fail me, we 
shall find the place a few rods farther to our left.” 

Without waiting for an assent, or, indeed, for any 
reply, the sturdy hunter moved boldly into a dense 
thicket of young chestnuts, shoving aside the 
branches of the exuberant shoots which nearly 
covered the ground, like a man who expected, at 
each step, to discover some object he had formerly 
known. The recollection of the scout did not de¬ 
ceive him. After penetrating through the brush, 
matted as it was with briers, for a few hundred 
feet, he entered an open space that surrounded a 
low, green hillock, which was crowned by the de¬ 
cayed block-house in question. This rude and neg¬ 
lected building was one of those deserted works, 
which, having been thrown up on an emergency, 
had been abandoned with the disappearance of 
danger and was now quietly crumbling in the solitude 
of the forest, neglected, and nearly forgotten, like 
the circumstances which had caused it to be reared. 
Such memorials of the passage and struggles of man 
2 In the first edition “varments.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


175 


are yet frequent throughout the broad barrier of 
the wilderness, which once separated the hostile 
provinces, and form a species of ruins, that are in¬ 
timately associated with the recollections of colo¬ 
nial history, and which are in appropriate keeping 
with the gloomy character of the surrounding scen¬ 
ery . 3 The roof of bark had long since fallen and 
mingled with the soil, but the huge logs of pine, 
which had been hastily thrown together, still pre¬ 
served their relative positions, though one angle of 
the work had given way under the pressure and 
threatened a speedy * downfall to the remainder of 
the rustic edifice. While Heyward and his com¬ 
panions hesitated to approach a building of such a 
decayed appearance, Hawkeye and the Indians en¬ 
tered within the low walls, not only without fear, 
but with obvious interest. While the former sur¬ 
veyed the ruins, both internally and externally, with 

3 Some years since, the writer was shooting in the vicinity 
of the ruins of Fort Oswego, which stands on the shores 
of Lake Ontario. His game was deer, and his chase a 
forest that stretched, with little interruption, fifty miles 
inland. Unexpectedly he came upon six or eight ladders 
lying in the woods within a short distance of each other. 
They were rudely made and much decayed. Wondering 
what could have assembled so many of these instruments 
in such a place, he sought an old man who resided near 
for the explanation. 

During the war of 1776 Fort Oswego was held by the 
British. An expedition had been sent two hundred miles 
through the wilderness to surprise the fort. It appears 
that the Americans, on reaching the spot named, which 
was within a mile or two of the fort, first learned that 
they were expected, and in great danger of being cut off. 
They threw away their scaling ladders, and made a rapid 
retreat. These ladders had lain unmolested thirty years, 
in the spot where they had thus been cast. [Cooper’s 
Note.] 



176 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the curiosity of one whose recollections were re¬ 
viving at each moment, Chingachgook related to his 
son, in the language of the Delawares, and with the 
pride of a conqueror, the brief history of the skir¬ 
mish which had been fought in his youth, in that 
secluded spot. A strain of melancholy, however, 
blended with his triumph, rendering his voice, as 
usual, soft and musical. 

In the meantime the sisters gladly dismounted, and 
prepared to enjoy their halt in the coolness of the 
evening, and in a security which they believed nothing 
but the beasts of the forest could invade. 

“Would not our resting-place have been more re¬ 
tired, my worthy friend,” demanded the more vigilant 
Duncan, perceiving that the scout had already finished 
his short survey, “had we chosen a spot less known, 
and one more rarely visited than this?” 

“Few live who know the block-house was ever 
raised,” was the slow and musing answer. “ ’Tis not 
often that books are made, and narratives written, 
of such a scrimmage as was here fou’t 4 atween the 
Mohicans and the Mohawks, in a war of their own 
waging. I was then a younker, and went out with 
the Delawares, because I know’d they were a scandal¬ 
ized 5 and wronged race. Forty days and forty nights 
did the imps crave our blood around this pile of logs, 
which I designed and partly reared, being, as you’ll 
remember, no Indian myself, but a man without a 
cross. The Delawares lent themselves to the work, 
and we made it good, ten to twenty, until our numbers 
were nearly equal, and then we sallied out upon the 
hounds, and not a man of them ever got back to tell 

4 Cooper wishes us to pronounce “fou’t” to rhyme with 
“out,” “about,” not with “sought.” It is an old form of 
the past tense, like “mout” or “mought” for “might’.” 

B Not a good usage of “scandalized” for “scandalously 
treated.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


177 


the fate of his party. Yes, yes; I was then young, 
and new to the sight of blood; and not relishing the 
thought that creatures who had spirits like myself 
should lay on the naked ground, to be torn asunder 
by beasts, or to bleach in the rains, I buried the dead 
with my own hands, under that very little hillock 
where you have placed yourselves; and no bad seat 
does it make neither, though it be raised by the bones 
of mortal men.” 

Heyward and the sisters arose, on the instant, 
from the grassy sepulcher; nor could the latter, not¬ 
withstanding the terrific scenes they had so recently 
passed through, entirely suppress an emotion of 
natural horror, when they found themselves in such 
familiar contact with the grave of the dead Mohawks. 
The gray light, the gloomy little area of dark grass, 
surrounded by its border of brush, beyond which 
the pines rose, in breathing silence, apparently, into 
the very clouds, and the deathlike stillness of the 
vast forest, were all in unison to deepen such a sensa¬ 
tion. 

“They are gone, and they are harmless,” continued 
Hawkeye, waving his hand, with a melancholy smile, 
at their manifest alarm. “They’ll never shout the 
war-whoop, nor strike a blow with the tomahawk, 
again! And of all those who aided in placing them 
where they lie, Chingachgook and I only are living! 
The brothers and family of the Mohican formed our 
war party, and you see before you all that are new 
left of his race.” 

The eyes of the listeners involuntarily sought the 
forms of the Indians, with a compassionate interest 
in their desolate fortune. Their dark persons were 
still to be seen within the shadows of the block-house, 
the son listening to the relation of his father, with 
that sort of intenseness which would be created by a 
narrative, that redounded so much to the honor of 


178 


he Last of the Mohicans 


those whose names he had long revered for their 
courage and savage virtues. “I had thought the Dela¬ 
wares a pacific people,” said Duncan, “and that they 
never waged war in person; trusting the defense 
of their lands to those very Mohawks that you slew?” 

“ ’Tis true, in part,” returned the scout, “and yet 
at the bottom ’tis a wicked lie. Such a treaty was 
made in ages gone by, through the deviltries of the 
Dutchers, 6 who wished to disarm the natives that 
had the best right to the country, where they had 
settled themselves. The Mohicans, though a part of 
the same nation, having to deal with the English, 
never entered into the silly bargain, but kept to their 
manhood; as in truth did the Delawares, when their 
eyes were opened to their folly. You see before you 
a chief of the great Mohican Sagamores! Once his 
family could chase their deer over tracts of country 
wider than that which belongs to the Albany Pat- 
teroon, 7 without crossing brook or hill that was not 
their own; but what is left to their descendant? He 
may find his six feet of earth, when God chooses: 
and keep it in peace, perhaps, if he has a friend who 
will take the pains to sink his head so low that the 
ploughshares cannot reach it!” 

“Enough!” said Heyward, apprehensive that the 
subject might lead to a discussion that would inter¬ 
rupt the harmony, so necessary to the preservation 
of his fair companions. “We have journeyed far, and 
few among us are blest with forms like that of yours, 
which seems to know neither fatigue nor weakness.” 

“The sinews and bones of a man carry me through 
it all,” said the hunter, surveying his muscular limbs 

“Compare Frenchers, etc. 

7 A Patroon or patron was a landed proprietor. See Glos¬ 
sary. The reference here is to the Van Rensselaer Manor, 
a grant made in 1632 by the Dutch West India Company. 
For the intrusive vowel see “commerade,” XII, note 9. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


179 


with a simplicity that betrayed the honest pleasure 
the compliment afforded him. “There are larger and 
heavier men to be found in the settlements, but you 
might travel many days in a city before you could 
meet one able to walk fifty miles without stopping 
to take breath, or who has kept the hounds within 
hearing during a chase of hours. However, as flesh 
and blood are not always the same, it is quite reason¬ 
able to suppose that the gentle ones are willing to 
rest, after all they have seen and done this day. 
Uncas, clear out the spring, while your father and 
I make a cover for their tender heads of these chest¬ 
nut shoots, and a bed of grass and leaves.” 

The dialogue ceased, while the hunter and his com¬ 
panions busied themselves in preparations for the 
comfort and protection of those they guided. A spring, 
which many long years before had induced the natives 
to select the place for their temporary fortification, 
was soon cleared of leaves, and a fountain of crystal 
gushed from the bed, diffusing its waters over the 
verdant hillock. A corner of the building was then 
roofed in such a manner as to exclude the heavy dew 
of the climate, and piles of sweet shrubs and dried 
leaves were laid beneath it for the sisters to repose 
on. 

While the diligent woodsmen were employed in this 
manner, Cora and Alice partook of that refreshment 
which duty required much more than inclination 
prompted them to accept. They then retired within 
the walls, and first offering up their thanksgiving 
for past mercies, and petitioning for a continuance 
of the Divine favors throughout the coming night, 
they laid their tender forms on the fragrant couch, 
and in spite of recollections and forebodings, soon 
sank into those slumbers which nature so imperiously 
demanded, and which were sweetened by hopes for 
the morrow. Duncan had prepared himself to pass 


180 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the night in watchfulness, near them, just without the 
ruin; but the scout, perceiving his intention, pointed 
towards Chingachgook, as he coolly disposed his own 
person on the grass, and said— 

“The eyes of a white man are too heavy, and too 
blind, for such a watch as this! The Mohican will 
be our sentinel; therefore, let us sleep.” 

“I proved myself a sluggard on my post during the 
past night,” said Heyward, “and have less need of 
repose than you, who did more credit to the character 
of a soldier. Let all the party seek their rest, then, 
while I hold the guard.” 

“If we lay among the white tents of the 60th, and 
in front of an enemy like the French, I could not ask 
for a better watchman,” returned the scout, “but 
in the darkness, and among the signs of the wilder¬ 
ness, your judgment would be like the folly of a child, 
and your vigilance thrown away. Do, then, like 
Uncas and myself, sleep, and sleep in safety.” 

Heyward, perceived, in truth, that the younger In¬ 
dian had thrown his form on the side of the hillock, 
while they were talking, like one who had sought to 
make the most of the time allotted to rest, and that 
his example had been followed by David, whose voice 
literally “clove to his jaws,” with the fever of his 
wound, heightened, as it was, by their toilsome march. 
Unwilling to prolong a useless discussion, the young 
man affected to comply, by posting his back against 
the logs of the block-house in a half recumbent pos¬ 
ture, though resolutely determined, in his own mind, 
not to close an eye until he had delivered his precious 
charge into the arms of Munro himself. Hawkeye, 
believing he had prevailed, soon fell asleep, and a 
silence as deep as the solitude in which they had 
found it, pervaded the retired spot. 

For many minutes Duncan succeeded in keeping 
his senses on the alert, and alive to every moaning 


The Last of the Mohicans 


181 


sound that arose from the forest. His vision be¬ 
came more acute as the shades of evening settled 
on the place, and even after the stars were glimmer¬ 
ing above his head, he was able to distinguish the 
recumbent forms of his companions, as they lay 
stretched on the grass, and to note the person of 
Chingaehgook, who sat upright and motionless as 
one of the trees which formed the dark barrier on 
every side of them. He still heard the gentle breath¬ 
ings of the sisters, who lay within a few feet of him, 
and not a leaf was ruffled by the passing air, of which 
his ear did not detect the whispering sound. At 
length, however, the mournful notes of the whippoor¬ 
will became blended with the moanings of an owl; 
his heavy eyes occasionally sought the bright rays 
of the stars, and then he fancied he saw them through 
the fallen lids. At instants of momentary wakeful¬ 
ness he mistook a bush for his associate sentinel; his 
head next sank upon his shoulders, which, in turn, 
sought the support of the ground; and, finally, his 
whole person became relaxed and pliant, and the young 
man sank into a deep sleep, dreaming that he was a 
knight of ancient chivalry, holding his midnight vigils 
before the tent of a recaptured princess, whose favor 
he did not despair of gaining, by such a proof of 
devotion and watchfulness. 

How long the tired Duncan lay in this insensible 
state he never knew himself, but his slumbering vis¬ 
ions had been long lost in total forgetfulness, when 
he was awakened by a light tap on the shoulder. 
Aroused by this signal, slight as it was, he sprang 
upon his feet with a confused recollection of the self- 
imposed duty he had assumed with the commencement 
of the night. 

“Who comes?” he demanded, feeling for his sword 
at the place where it was usually suspended. “Speak! 
friend or enemy?” 


182 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Friend,” replied the low voice of Chingachgook; 
who, pointing upwards at the luminary which was 
shedding its mild light through the opening in the 
trees, directly in their bivouac, immediately added, 
in his rude English, “Moon comes, and white man’s 
fort far—far off. Time to move, when sleep shuts 
both eyes of the Frenchman!” 

“You say true! Call up your friends, and bridle 
the horses, while I prepare my own companions for 
the march!” 

“We are awake, Duncan,” said the soft, silvery 
tones of Alice within the building, “and ready to 
travel very fast after so refreshing a sleep; but you 
have watched through the tedious night in our be¬ 
half, after having endured so much fatigue the live¬ 
long day!” 

“Say, rather, I would have watched, but my treach¬ 
erous eyes betrayed me. Twice have I proved myself 
unfit for the trust I bear.” 

“Nay, Duncan, deny it not,” interrupted the smil¬ 
ing Alice, issuing from the shadows of the building 
into the light of the moon, in all the loveliness of 
her freshened beauty. “I know you to be a heedless 
one, when self is the object of your care, and but 
too vigilant in favor of others. Can we not tarry 
here a little longer, while you find the rest you need? 
Cheerfully, most cheerfully, will Cora and I keep the 
vigils, while you, and all these brave men, endeavor 
to snatch a little sleep!” 

“If shame could cure me of my drowsiness, I should 
never close an eye again,” said the uneasy youth, 
gazing at the ingenuous countenance 8 of Alice, where, 
however, in its sweet solicitude, he read nothing to 
confirm his half awakened suspicions. “It is but too 
true, that after leading you into danger by my heed- 


8 Misprinted ‘'ingenious countenance” in the first edition. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


183 


lessness, I have not even the merit of guarding your 
pillows as should become, a soldier.” 

“No one but Duncan himself should accuse Duncan 
of such weakness!” returned the confiding Alice; 
who lent herself, with all a woman’s confidence, to 
that generous delusion which painted the perfection 
of her youthful admirer. “Go, then, and sleep. Be¬ 
lieve me, neither of us, weak girls as we are, will 
betray our watch.” 

The young man was relieved from his awkward¬ 
ness of making any further protestations of his own 
demerits, by an exclamation from Chingachgook, and 
the attitude of riveted attention assumed by his son. 

“The Mohicans hear an enemy,” whispered Hawk- * 
eye, who, by this time, in common with the whole 
party, was awake and stirring. “They scent some 
danger in the wind!” 

“God forbid!” exclaimed Heyward. “Surely, we 
have had enough of bloodshed?” 

While he spoke, however, the young soldier seized 
his rifle, and advancing towards the front, prepared 
to atone for his venial remissness, by freely exposing 
his life in defense of those he attended. 

“ ’Tis gome creature of the forest prowling around 
us in quest of food!” he said, in a whisper, as soon 
as the low and apparently distant sounds, which had 
startled the Mohicans, reached his own ears. 

“Hist!” returned the attentive scout. “’Tis man; 
even I can now tell his tread, poor as my senses are, 
when compared to an Indian’s! That scampering 
Huron has fallen in with one of Montcalm’s outlying 
parties, and they have struck upon our trail. I 
shouldn’t like myself to spill more human blood in 
this spot,” he added, looking around with anxiety 
in his features, at the dim objects by which he was 
surrounded; “But what must be, must! Lead the 
horses into the block house, Uncas; and friends, do 


184 


The Last of the Mohicans 


you follow to the same shelter. Poor and old as it 
is, it offers a cover, and has rung with the crack of 
a rifle afore tonight!” 

He was instantly obeyed, the Mohicans leading the 
Narragansetts within the ruin, whither the whole 
party repaired, with the most guarded silence. 

The sounds of approaching footsteps were 9 now 
too distinctly audible, to leave any doubts as to the 
nature of the interruption. They were soon mingled 
with voices calling to each other, in an Indian dialect, 
which the hunter, in a whisper, affirmed to Heyward 
was the language of the Hurons. When the party 
reached the point where the horses had entered the 
thicket which surrounded the block-house, they were 
evidently at fault, having lost those marks which, 
until that moment, had directed their pursuit. 

It would seem by the voices that twenty men were 
soon collected at that one spot, mingling their differ¬ 
ent opinions and advice,' in noisy clamor. 

“The knaves know our weakness,” whispered 
Hawkeye, who stood by the side of Heyward, in deep 
shade, looking through an opening in the logs, “or 
they wouldn’t indulge their idleness in such a squaw’s 
march. Listen to the reptiles! each man among them 
seems to have two tongues, and but a single leg!” 

Duncan, brave, and even fierce as he sometimes was 
in the combat, could not in such a moment of painful 
suspense, make any reply to the cool and characteristic 
remark of the scout. He only grasped his rifle more 
firmly, and fastened his eyes upon the narrow open¬ 
ing, through which he gazed upon the moonlight view 
with increasing intenseness. The deeper tones of 
one who spoke as having authority, were next heard, 
amid a silence that denoted the respect with which 
his orders, or rather advice, was received. After 
which, by the rustling of leaves, and cracking of dried 

9 In the first edition “was.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


185 


twigs, it was apparent the savages were separating in 
pursuit of the lost trail. Fortunately for the pur¬ 
sued, the light of the moon, while it shed its mild 
luster upon the little area around the ruin, was not 
sufficiently strong to penetrate the deep arches of the 
forest, where the objects still lay in dim and decep¬ 
tive shadow. The search proved fruitless; for so 
short and sudden had been the passage from the faint 
path the travelers had journeyed into the thicket, 
that every trace of their footsteps was lost in the 
obscurity of the woods. 

It was not long, before the restless savages were 
heard beating the brush, and gradually approaching 
the inner edge of that dense border of young chest¬ 
nuts which encircled the little area. 

“They are coming,” muttered Heyward, endeavor¬ 
ing to thrust his rifle through the chinks in the logs. 
“Let us fire on their approach.” 

“Keep everything in the shade,” returned the scout. 
“The snapping of a flint, or even the smell of a single 
karnal of brimstone, would bring the hungry varlets 
upon us in a body. Should it please God that we must 
give battle for the scalps, trust to the experience of 
men who know the ways of the savages, and who are 
not often backward when the war-whoop is howled.” 

Duncan cast his eyes behind him, and saw that 
the trembling sisters were cowering in the far corner 
of the building, while the Mohicans stood in the 
shadow, like two upright posts, ready, and apparently 
willing, to strike when the blow should be needed. 
Curbing his impatience, he again looked out upon 
the area, and awaited the results in silence. At that 
instant the thicket opened, and a tall and armed 
Huron advanced a few paces into the open space. As 
he gazed upon the silent block-house, the moon fell 
upon his swarthy countenance, and betrayed its sur¬ 
prise and curiosity. He made the exclamation which 


186 The Last^ of the Mohicans 

usually accompanies the former emotion in an Indian, 
and, calling in a low voice, soon drew a companion to 
his side. 

These children of the woods stood together for 
several moments pointing at the crumbling edifice, 
and conversing in the unintelligible language of their 
tribe. They then approached, though with slow and 
cautious steps, pausing every instant to look at the 
building, like startled deer, whose curiosity struggled 
powerfully with their awakened apprehensions for the 
mastery. The foot of one of them suddenly rested 
on the mound, and he stooped to examine its nature. 
At this moment, Heyward observed the scout loosened 
his knife in its sheath, and lowered the muzzle of 
his rifle. Imitating these movements^ the young 
man prepared himself for the struggle, which now 
seemed inevitable. 

The savages were so near, that the least motion 
in one of the horses, or even a breath louder than 
common, would have betrayed the fugitives. But, in 
discovering the character of the mound, the atten¬ 
tion of the Hurons appeared directed to a different 
object. They spoke together, and the sounds of their 
voices were low and solemn, as if influenced by a rev¬ 
erence that was deeply blended with awe. Then they 
drew warily back, keeping their eyes on the ruin as if 
they expected to see the apparitions of the dead issue 
from its silent walls, until having reached the boun¬ 
dary of the area, they moved slowly into the thicket 
and disappeared. 

Hawkeye dropped the breech of his rifle to the 
earth, and drawing a long, free breath, exclaimed, in 
an audible whisper— 

“Aye! they respect the dead , 10 and it has this time 

lu Many early chronicles of the Indians speak of their 
respect for the dead. Their withdrawal from the block- 



The Last of the Mohicans 


187 


saved their own lives, and, it may be, the lives of 
better men too.” 

Heyward lent his attention for a single moment 
to his companion, but without replying he again 
turned toward those who just then interested him 
more. He heard the two Hurons leave the bushes, 
and it was soon plain that all the pursuers were 
gathered about them, in deep attention to their re¬ 
port. After a few minutes of earnest and solemn 
dialogue, altogether different from the noisy clamor 
with which they had first collected about the spot, 
the sounds grew fainter and more distant and finally 
were lost in the depths of the forest. 

Hawkeye waited until a signal from the listening 
Chingachgook assured him that every sound from 
the retiring party was completely swallowed by the 
distance, when he motioned to Heyward to lead forth 
the horses, and to assist the sisters into their saddles. 
The instant this was done, they issued through the 
broken gateway, and stealing out by a direction op¬ 
posite to the one by which they had entered, they 
quitted the spot, the sisters casting furtive glances 
at the silent grave and crumbling ruin, as they left the 
soft light of the moon, to bury themselves in the deep 
gloom of the woods. 


house because of this feeling and because of their fear of 
the place is not so unlikely as might be thought by a 
reader unfamiliar with Indian ways 


CHAPTER XIV 


Guard .—“Qui est la?” 

Puc. —“Paysans, pauvres gens de France.” 

—Shakespeare, I Henry VI, III, ii 1 . 

During the rapid movement from the block-house, 
and until the party was deeply buried in the forest, 
each individual was too much interested in their es¬ 
cape to hazard a word even in whispers. The scout 
resumed his post in the advance, though his steps, 
after he had thrown a safe distance between himself 
and his enemies, were more deliberate than in their 
previous march, in consequence of his utter ignorance 
of the localities of the surrounding woods. More than 
once, he halted to consult with his confederates, the 
Mohicans, pointing upwards at the moon, and examin¬ 
ing the barks of the trees with extraordinary care. 
In these brief pauses, Heyward and the sisters 
listened, with senses rendered doubly acute by their 
danger, to detect any symptoms which might announce 
the proximity of their foes. At such moments, it 
seemed as if a vast range of country lay buried in 
eternal sleep; not the least sound arising from the 
forest, unless it was the distant and scarcely audible 
rippling of a water-course. Birds, beasts, and man 
appeared to slumber alike, if, indeed, any of the latter 
were to be found in that wide tract of wilderness. 
But the sounds of the rivulet, feeble and murmuring 
as they were, relieved the guides at once from no tri¬ 
fling embarrassment, and towards it they immediately 
held their way. 

When the banks of the little stream were gained, 
Hawkeye made another halt; and, taking the mocca¬ 
sins from his feet, he invited Heyward and Gamut 
i The dialogue heading the chapter means “Who’s there?” 

‘Poor people of France.” 


[ 188 ] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


189 


to follow his example. He then entered the water, 
and for near an hour they traveled in the bed of the 
brook, leaving no trail . 2 The moon had already sunk 
into an immense pile of black clouds, which lay im¬ 
pending above the western horizon, when they issued 
from the low and devious water-course to rise again 
to the light and level of the sandy but wooded plain. 
Here the scout seemed to be once more at home, for 
he held on his way with the certainty and diligence 
of a man who moved in the security of his own knowl¬ 
edge. The path soon became more uneven, and the 
travelers could plainly perceive that the mountains 
drew nigher to them on each hand, and they 
were, in truth, about entering one of their gorges. 
Suddenly Hawkeye made a pause, and waiting until 
he was joined by the whole party, he spoke, though 
in tones so low and cautious, that they added to the 
solemnity of his words, in the quiet and darkness of 
the place. 

“It is easy to know the pathways, and to find the 
licks and water-courses of the wilderness,” he said. 
“But who that saw this spot could venture to say 
that a mighty army was at rest among yonder silent 
trees and barren mountains?” 

“We are then at no great distance from William 
Henry?” said Heyward, advancing nigher to the scout. 

“It is yet a long and weary path, and when and 
where to strike it, is now our greatest difficulty. See,” 
he said, pointing through the trees towards a spot 
where a little basin of water reflected the stars from 
its placid bosom, “here is the ‘bloody pond’; and I am 
on the ground that I have not only often traveled, but 
over which I have fou’t the enemy, from the rising 
to the setting sun.” 

“Ha! that sheet of dull and dreary water, then, is 


2 In the first edition “no dangerous trail.” 



190 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the sepulcher of the brave men who fell in the contest. 
I have heard it named, but never have I stood on its 
banks before.” 

“Three battles did we make with the Dutch-French¬ 
man 3 in a day,” continued Hawkeye, pursuing the 
train of his own thoughts, rather than replying to 
the remarks of Duncan. “He met us hard by, in our 
outward march to ambush his advance, and scattered 
us, like driven deer, through the defile, to the shores 
of Horican. Then we rallied behind fallen trees, and 
made head against him, under Sir William—who was 
made Sir William for that very deed; and well did 
we pay him for the disgrace of the morning! Hun¬ 
dreds of Frenchmen saw the sun that day for the last 
time; and even the leader, Dieskau himself, fell into 
our hands so cut and torn with lead that he has gone 
back to his own country, unfit for further acts in 
war.” 

“ Twas a noble repulse!” exclaimed Heyward, in 
the heat of his youthful ardor. “The fame of it 
reached us early, in our southern army.” 

“Aye! but it did not end there. I was sent by Major 
Effingham, at Sir William’s own bidding, to out-flank 
the French, and carry the tidings of their disaster 
across the portage, to the fort on the Hudson. Just 
hereaway, where you see the trees rise into a moun¬ 
tain swell, I met a party 4 coming down to our aid, 
and I led them where the enemy were taking their 

3 Baron Dieskau. a German, in the service of France. A 
few years previous to the period of the tale, this officer 
was defeated by Sir William Johnson of Johnstown, New 
York, on the shores of Lake George. [Cooper’s Note.] 

4 New Hampshire troops under Captain McGinnis on their 
way from Fort Edward to Fort William Henry. Captain 
McGinnis’s men are said to have defeated some French 
and Indian fugitives from the # battlefield who had em 
countered Dieskau's baggage train, and were obtaining pro¬ 
visions and eating them when surprised. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


191 


meal, little dreaming that they had not finished the 
bloody work of the day.” 

“And you surprised them?” 

“If death can be a surprise to men who are think¬ 
ing only after the cravings of their appetites! We 
gave them but little breathing time, for they had 
borne hard upon us in the fight of the morning, and 
there were few in our party who had not lost friend 
or relative by their hands. When all was over, the 
dead, and some say the dying, were cast into that 
little pond . 5 These eyes have seen its waters colored 
with blood, as natural water never yet flowed from the 
bowels of the ’arth.” 

“It was a convenient, and, I trust, will prove a 
peaceful grave to a soldier! You have, then, seen 
much service on the frontier?” 

“I!” said the scout, erecting his tall person with an 
air of military pride. “There are not many echoes 
among these hills that haven’t rung with the crack 
of my rifle, nor is there the space a square mile atwixt 
Horican and the river, that ‘Killdeer’ hasn’t dropped 
a living body on, be it an enemy, or be it a brute 
beast. As for the grave there, being as quiet as you 
mention, it is another matter. There are them in the 
camp who say and think, man, to lie still, should not 
be buried while the breath is in the body; and cer¬ 
tain it is, that in the hurry of that evening, the doc¬ 
tors had but little time to say who was living and 
who was dead. Hist! see you nothing now walking 
on the shore of the pond?” 

“ ’Tis not probable that any are as houseless as 
ourselves, in this dreary forest.” 

“Such as he may care but little for house or shelter, 
and night dew can never wet a body that passes its 
days in the water!” returned the scout, grasping the 
shoulder of Heyward, with such convulsive strength, 


6 Said to be still known as the Bloody Pond. 




192 


The Last of the Mohicans 


as to make the young soldier painfully sensible how 
much superstitious terror had gotten the mastery of 
a man who was usually so dauntless. 

“By heaven! there is a human form, and it ap¬ 
proaches! Stand to your arms, my friends, for we 
know not whom we encounter.” 

“Qui vive?” demanded a stern and deep voice, which 
sounded like a challenge from another world, issuing 
out of that solitary and solemn place 6 . 

“What says it?” whispered the scout. “It speaks 
neither Indian nor English!” 

“Qui vive?” repeated the same voice, which was 
quickly followed by the rattling of arms, and a menac¬ 
ing attitude. 

“France,” cried Heyward, advancing from the 
shadow of the trees, to the shore of the pond, within 
a few yards of the sentinel. 

“D’ou venez-vous—ou allez-vous d’aussi bonne 
heure?” demanded the grenadier, in the language 
and with the accent of a man from old France. 

“Je viens de la decouverte, et je vais me coucher.’’ 

“Etes-vous officier du roi?” 

“Sans doute, mon camarade; me prends-tu pour un 
provincial! Je suis capitaine de chasseurs (Heyward 
well knew that the other was of a regiment in the 

““Who goes there?’’ or “Who are you?” The next sentences 
mean: “Where are you going at such an early hour?” 
“I have been reconnoitering and go to my bed.” “Are you 
an officer of the King?” “Surely, comrade. Do you take 
me for a provincial? I am a captain of the light troops. 
I have with me the daughters of the commander of the 
Fort. Aha! You have heard of them. I made them pris¬ 
oners near the other fort, and I am conducting them to 
the General.” “Faith, ladies, I am sorry for you, but— 
the fortune of war! You will find our general a brave 
man and very courteous to the ladies.” “That is charact¬ 
eristic of soldiers. Adieu, friend. I wish you had a more 
agreeable duty to perform.” “Good night, my comrade.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


193 


line)— j’ai ici, avec moi, les filles du commandant 
de la fortification. Aha! tu en as entendu parler! 
je les ai fait prisonnieres pres de l’autre fort, et je 
les conduit au general.” 

“Ma foi! mesdames; j’en suis fache pour vous,” 
exclaimed the young soldier, touching his cap with 
studious politeness, and no little grace, “mais—for¬ 
tune de guerre! vous trouverez notre general un 
brave homme, et bien poli avec les dames.” 

“C’est le caractere des gens de guerre,” said Cora, 
with admirable self-possession. “Adieu, mon ami; je 
vous souhaiterais un devoir plus agreable a remplir.” 

The soldier made a low and humble acknowledg¬ 
ment for her civility; and Heyward adding a “Bonne 
nuit, mon camarade,” they moved deliberately for¬ 
ward; leaving the sentinel pacing along the banks of 
the silent pond, little suspecting an enemy of so 
much effrontery, and humming to himself those words, 
which were recalled to his mind by the sight of 
women, and perhaps by recollections of his own dis¬ 
tant and beautiful France— 

“Vive le yin, Tamour,” etc., etc . 7 

“’Tis well you understood the knave!” whispered 
the scout, when they had gained a little distance 
from the place, and letting his rifle fall into the 
hollow of his arm again: “I soofi saw that he was 
one of them uneasy Frenchers; and well for him it 
was that his speech was friendly and his wishes kind, 
or a place might have been found for his bones among 
those of his countrymen.” 

He was interrupted by a long and heavy groan 
which arose from the little basin, as though, in truth, 
the spirits of the departed lingered about their watery 
sepulcher. 

“Surely it was of flesh!” continued the scout. “No 
spirit could handle its arms so steadily!” 

7 “Hurrah for wine, for love.” 



194 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“It ivas of flesh; but whether the poor fellow still 
belongs to this world may well be doubted,” said 
Heyward, glancing his eyes around him, and missing 
Chingachgook from their little band. Another groan, 
more faint than the former, was succeeded by a heavy 
and sullen plunge into the water, and all was as still 
again as if the borders of the dreary pool had never 
been awakened from the silence of creation. While 
they yet hesitated in uncertainty/ the form of the 
Indian was seen gliding out of the thicket . 9 As the 
chief rejoined them, with one hand he attached the 
reeking scalp of the unfortunate young Frenchman 
to his girdle, and with the other he replaced the knife 
and tomahawk that had drunk his blood. He then 
took his wonted station, with the aii * 10 of a man who 
believed he had done a deed of merit. 

The scout dropped one end of his rifle to the earth, 
and leaning his hands on the other, he stood musing 
in profound silence . 11 Then shaking his head in a 
mournful manner, he muttered,— 

“ ’Twould have been a cruel and an unhuman act 
for a white-skin; but ’tis the gift and natur of an 
Indian, and I suppose it should not be denied. I 
could wish, though, it had befallen an accursed Mingo, 
rather than that gay young boy from the old coun¬ 
tries.” 

“Enough!” said Heyward, apprehensive the uncon¬ 
scious sisters might comprehend the nature of the 
detention, and conquering his disgust by a train of 
reflections very much like that of the hunter. “ Tis 
done; and though better it were left undone, cannot 

The first edition had “in uncertainty that each moment 
served to render more painful.” 

"In the first edition “gliding out of the thicket (and) 
rejoined them, (while)” etc. 

Tn the first edition, “with the satisfied air.” 

u In the first edition “musing a moment.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


195 


be amended. You see we are, too obviously, within 
the sentinels of the enemy. What course do you 
propose to follow?” 

“Yes,” said Hawkeye, rousing himself again, “ ’tis 
as you say, too late to harbor further thoughts about 
it! Aye, the French have gathered around the fort 
in good earnest, and we have a delicate needle to 
thread in passing them.” 

“And but little time to do it in,” added Heyward, 
glancing his eyes upward, towards the bank of vapor 
that concealed the setting moon. 

“And little time to do it in,” repeated the scout. 
“The thing might be done in two fashions, by the 
help of Providence, without which it may not be done 
at all!” 

“Name them quickly, for time presses.” 

“One would be, to dismount the gentle ones, and 
let their beasts range the plain. By sending the Mo¬ 
hicans in front, we might then cut a lane through 
their sentries, and enter the fort over the dead 
bodies.” 

“It will not do—it will not do!” interrupted the 
generous Heyward. “A soldier might force his way, 
in this manner, but never with such a convoy.” 

“ ’Twould be, indeed, a bloody path for such tender 
feet to wade in!” returned the equally reluctant scout. 
“But I thought it befitting my manhood to name the 
thing. We must then turn on our trail, and get with¬ 
out the line of their look-outs, when we will bend 
short to the west, and enter the mountains, where I 
can hide you, so that all the devil’s hounds in Mont¬ 
calm’s pay would be thrown off the scent, for months 
to come.” 

“Let it be done,” returned the impatient young 
man, “and that instantly.” 

Further words were unnecessary; for Hawkeye, 
merely uttering the mandate to “follow,” moved along 


196 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the route by which they had just entered their pres¬ 
ent critical and even dangerous situation. Their 
progress, like their late dialogue, was guarded and 
without noise; for none knew at what moment a pass¬ 
ing patrol, or a crouching picket of the enemy, might 
rise upon their path. As they held their silent way 
along the margin of the pond, again Heyward and the 
scout stole furtive glances at its appalling dreariness. 
They looked in vain for the form they had so recently 
seen stalking along its silent shores, while a low and 
regular wash of the little waves, by announcing that 
the waters were not yet subsided, furnished a fright¬ 
ful memorial of the deed of blood they had just wit¬ 
nessed. Like all that passing and gloomy scene, the 
low basin, however, quickly melted in the darkness, 
and became blended with the mass of black objects in 
the rear of the travelers. 1 ^ 

Hawkeye soon deviated from the line of their re¬ 
treat, and striking off towards the mountains which 
form the western boundary of the narrow plain, he 
led his followers, with swift steps, deep within the 
shadows that were cast from their high and broken 
summits. The route was now painful; lying over 
ground ragged with rocks, and intersected with 
ravines, and their progress proportionately slow. 
Bleak and black hills lay on every side of them, com¬ 
pensating in some degree for the additional toil of 
the march by the sense of security they imparted. 
At length the party began slowly to rise 13 a steep and 
rugged ascent, by a path that curiously wound among 
rocks and trees, avoiding the one, and supported by 
the other, in a manner that showed it had been de¬ 
vised by men long practised in the arts of the wilder¬ 
ness. As they gradually rose from the level of the 

12 In the first edition “of the active travelers.” 

18 Not a good use of “rise,” but Cooper never changed it. 
Most modern editions read “climb,” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


197 


valleys, the thick darkness which usually precedes the 
approach of day began to disperse, and objects were 
seen in the plain and palpable colors with which they 
had been gifted by nature. When they issued from 
the stunted woods 14 which clung to the barren sides 
of the mountain, upon a flat and mossy rock that 
formed its summit, they met the morning, as it came 
blushing above the green pines of a hill that lay on 
the opposite side of the valley of the Horican. 

The scout now told the sisters to dismount; and 
taking the bridles from the mouths, and the saddles 
off the backs of the jaded beasts, he turned them 
loose, to glean a scanty subsistence among the shrubs 
and meager herbage of that elevated region. 

“Go,” he said, “and seek your food where natur 
gives it you; and beware that you become not food 
to ravenous wolves yourselves, among these hills.” 

“Have we no further need of them?” demanded 
Heyward. 

“See, and judge with your own eyes,” said the 
scout, advancing toward the eastern brow of the 
mountain, whither he beckoned for the whole party 
to follow. “If it was as easy to look into the heart 
of man as it is to spy out the nakedness of Montcalm's 
camp from this spot, hypocrites would grow scarce, 
and the cunning of a Mingo might prove a losing 
game, compared to the honesty of a Delaware.” 

When the travelers reached the verge of the preci¬ 
pice they’ saw, at a glance, the truth of the scout’s 
declaration, and the admirable foresight with which 
he had led them to their commanding station. 

The mountain on which they stood, elevated per¬ 
haps a thousand feet in the air, was a high cone, that 
rose a little in advance of that range which reached 
for miles along the western shores of the lake, until 
meeting its sister piles beyond the water, it ran off 


14 In the first edition “stinted woods.” See VII, note 5. 



198 


The Last of the Mohicans 


far towards the Canadas, in confused and broken 
masses of rock, which were thinly sprinkled with ever¬ 
greens. Immediately at the feet of the party, the 
southern shore of the Horican swept in a broad semi¬ 
circle, from mountain to mountain, marking a wide 
strand, that soon rose into an uneven and somewhat 
elevated plain. To the north stretched the limpid, 
and, as it appeared from the dizzy height, the narrow 
sheet of the “holy lake,” indented with numberless 
bays, embellished by fantastic headlands, and dotted 
with countless islands. At the distance of a few 
leagues, the bed of the waters became lost among 
mountains, or was wrapped in the masses of vapor, 
that came slowly along their bosom, before a light 
morning air. But a narrow opening between the 
crests of the hills pointed out the passage by which 
they found their way still farther north, to spread 
their pure and ample sheets again, before pouring out 
their tribute into the distant Champlain. To the 
south stretched the defile, or rather broken plain, so 
often mentioned. For several miles in this direction, 
the mountains appeared reluctant to yield their do¬ 
minion, but within reach of the eye they diverged, 
and finally melted into the level and sandy lands, 
across which we have accompanied our adventurers 
in their double journey. Along both ranges of hills, 
which bounded the opposite sides of the lake and 
valley, clouds of light vapor were rising in spiral 
wreaths from the uninhabited woods, looking like the 
smokes of the hidden cottages, or rolled lazily down 
the declivities, to mingle with the fogs of the lower 
land. A single, solitary, snow-white cloud floated 
above the valley, and marked the spot beneath which 
lay the silent pool of the “bloody pond.” 

Directly on the shore of the lake, and nearer to its 
western than to its eastern margin, lay the extensive 
earthen ramparts and low buildings of William Henry. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


199 


Two of the sweeping bastions appeared to rest on the 
water which washed their bases, while a deep ditch 
and extensive morasses guarded its other sides and 
angles. The land had been cleared of wood for a 
reasonable distance around the work, but every other 
part of the scene lay in the green livery of nature, 
except where the limpid water mellowed the view, or 
the bold rocks thrust their black and naked heads 
above the undulating outline of the mountain ranges. 
In its front might be seen the scattered sentinels, 
who held a weary watch against their numerous foes; 
and within the walls themselves, the travelers looked 
down upon men still drowsy with a night of vigilance. 
Towards the southeast, but in immediate contact with 
the fort, was an intrenched camp, posted on a rocky 
eminence, that would have been far more eligible 
for the work itself, in which Hawkeye pointed out 
the presence of those auxiliary regiments that had 
so recently left the Hudson in their company. From 
the woods, a little farther to the south, rose numerous 
dark and lurid smokes, that were easily to be dis¬ 
tinguished from the purer exhalations of the springs, 
and which the scout also showed to Heyward, as evi¬ 
dences that the enemy lay in force in that direction. 

But the spectacle which most concerned the young 
soldier was on the western bank of the lake, though 
quite near to its southern termination. On a strip of 
land, which appeared, from his stand, too narrow to 
contain such an army, but which, in truth, extended 
many hundreds of yards from the shores of the Hori- 
can to the base of the mountain, were to be seen the 
white tents and military engines of an encampment of 
ten thousand men. Batteries were already thrown up 
in their front, and even while the spectators above 
them were looking down, with such different emotions, 
on a scene which lay like a map beneath their feet, 
the roar of artillery rose from the valley, and passed 


200 


The Last of the Mohicans 


off in thundering echoes, along the eastern hills. 

“Morning is just touching them below,” said the 
deliberate and musing scout, “and the watchers have 
a mind to wake up the sleepers by the sound of can¬ 
non. We are a few hours too late! Montcalm has 
already filled the woods with his accursed Iroquois.” 

“The place is, indeed, invested,” returned Duncan, 
“but is there no expedient by which we may enter? 
Capture in the works would be far preferable to fall¬ 
ing again into the hands of roving Indians.” 

“See!” exclaimed the scout, unconsciously directing 
the attention of Cora to the quarters of her own 
father, “how that shot has made the stones fly from 
the side of the commandant’s house! Aye! these 
Frenchers will pull it to pieces faster than it was 
put together, solid and thick though it be.” 

“Heyward, I sicken at the sight of danger that I 
cannot share,” said the undaunted, but anxious 
daughter. “Let us go to Montcalm, and demand ad¬ 
mission. He dare not deny a child the boon.” 

“You would scarce find the tent of the Frenchman 
with the hair on your head,” said the blunt scout. 
“If I had but one of the thousand boats which lie 
empty along that shore, it might be done. Ha! here 
will soon be an end of the firing, for yonder comes 
a fog that will turn day to night, and make an Indian 
arrow more dangerous than a molded cannon. Now, 
if you are equal to the work, and will follow, I will 
make a push; for I long to get down into that camp, 
if it be only to scatter some Mingo dogs that I see 
lurking in the skirts of yonder thicket of birch.” 

“We are equal!” said Cora, firmly. “On such an 
errand we will follow to any danger!” 

The scout turned to her with a smile of honest and 
cordial approbation, as he answered— 

“I would I had a thousand men of brawny limbs and 
quick eyes that feared death as little as you! I’d send 


The Last of the Mohicans 


201 


them jabbering Frenchers back into their den again, 
afore the week was ended, howling like so many fet¬ 
tered hounds, or hungry wolves. But stir,” he added, 
turning from her to the rest of the party. “The fog 
comes rolling down so fast, we shall have but just 
the time to meet it on the plain, and use it as a cover. 
Remember, if any accident should befall me, to keep 
the air blowing on your left cheeks—or, rather, follow 
the Mohicans. They’d scent their way, be it in day 
or be it at night.” 

He then waved his hand for them to follow, and 
threw himself down the steep declivity, with free but 
careful footsteps. Heyward assisted the sisters to 
descend, and in a few minutes they were all far down 
a mountain, whose sides they had climbed with so 
much toil and pain. 

The direction taken by Hawkeye soon brought the 
travelers to the level of the plain nearly opposite to 
a sallyport, in the western curtain of the fort, which 
lay, itself, at the distance of about half a mile from 
the point where he halted, to allow Duncan to come 
up with his charge. In their eagerness, and favored 
by the nature of the ground, they had anticipated 
the fog, which was rolling heavily down the lake, 
and it became necessary to pause, until the mists had 
wrapped the camp of the enemy in their fleecy mantle. 
The Mohicans profited by the delay, to steal out of 
the woods, and to make a survey of surrounding ob¬ 
jects. They were followed at a little distance by the 
scout, with a view to profit early by their report, and 
to obtain some faint knowledge for himself of the 
more immediate localities. 

In a very few moments he returned, his face red¬ 
dened with vexation, while he muttered forth his dis¬ 
appointment in words of no very gentle import. 

“Here has the cunning Frenchman been posting a 
picket directly in our path,” he said, “red-skins and 


202 


The Last of the Mohicans 


whites; and we shall be as likely to fall into their 
midst as to pass them in the fog!” 

“Cannot we make a. circuit to avoid the danger,” 
asked Heyward, “and come into our path again when 
it is passed?” 

“Who that once bends from the line of his march 
in a fog can tell when or how to turn to find it again! 
The mists of Horican are not like the curls from a 
peace-pipe, or the smoke which settles above a mos¬ 
quito fire.” 

He was yet speaking, when a crashing sound was 
heard, and a cannon-ball entered the thicket, striking 
the body of a sapling, and rebounding to the earth, 
its force being much expended by previous resist¬ 
ance. The Indians followed instantly like busy at¬ 
tendants on the terrible messenger, and Uncas com¬ 
menced speaking earnestly and with much action, in 
the Delaware tongue. 

“It may be so, lad,” muttered the scout, when he 
had ended, “for desperate fevers are not to be treated 
like a toothache. Come, then, the fog is shutting in.” 

“Stop!” cried Heyward. “First explain your expec¬ 
tations.” 

“ ’Tis soon done, and a small hope it is; but it is 
better than nothing. This shot that you see,” added 
the scout, kicking the harmless iron with his foot, 
“has plowed the ’arth in its road from the fort, and 
we shall hunt for the furrow it has made, when all 
other signs may fail. No more words, but follow, or 
the fog may leave us in the middle of our path, a mark 
for both armies to shoot at.” 

Heyward perceiving that, in fact, a crisis had ar¬ 
rived. when acts were more required than words, 
placed himself between the sisters, and drew them 
swiftly forward, keeping the dim figure of their lead¬ 
er in his eye. It was soon apparent that Hawkeye 
had not magnified the power of the fog, for before 


The Last of the Mohicans 


203 


they had proceeded twenty yards, it was difficult for 
the different individuals of the party to distinguish 
each other, in the vapor. 

They had made their little circuit to the left, and 
were already inclining again towards the right, hav¬ 
ing as Heyward thought, got over nearly half the 
distance to the friendly works, when his ears were 
saluted with the fierce summons, apparently within 
twenty feet of them, of— 

“Qui va la ?” 15 

“Push on!” whispered the scout, once more bend¬ 
ing to the left. 

“Push on!” repeated Heyward, when the summons 
was renewed by a dozen voices, each of which seemed 
charged with threatening menaces. 

“C'est moi,” cried Duncan, dragging, rather than 
leading, those he supported, swiftly onward. 

“Bete! qui? moi!” 

“Un ami de la France.” 

“Tu m’as plus hair d’un ennemi de la France; 
arrete! ou pardieu je te ferai ami du diable. Non! 
feu; camarades, feu!” 

The order was instantly obeyed, and the fog was 
stirred by the explosion of fifty muskets. Happily 
the aim was bad, and the bullets cut the air in a di¬ 
rection a little different from that taken by the fugi¬ 
tives though still so nigh them, that to the unprac¬ 
tised ears of David and the two maidens, it appeared 
as if they whistled within a few inches of the organs. 
The outcry was renewed, and the order, not only to 
fire again, but to pursue, was too plainly audible. 
When Heyward briefly explained the meaning of the 

15 “Who goes there?” The following French sentences 
mean “It is I.” “Blockhead, who, I?” “A friend of 
France.” “You seem to me more like an enemy of France. 
Halt, or by the Lord I’ll make you a friend of the devil. 
No! Fire, comrades, fire.” 



204 


The Last of the Mohicans 


words they heard, Hawkeye halted, and spoke with 
quick decision and great firmness. 

“Let us deliver our fire,” he said. “They will be¬ 
lieve it a sortie, and give way, or will wait for rein¬ 
forcements.” 

The scheme was well conceived, but failed in its 
effect. The instant the French heard their pieces, it 
seemed as if the plain was alive with men, muskets 
rattling along its whole extent, from the shores of 
the lake to the farthest boundary of the woods. 

“We shall draw their entire army upon us, and 
bring on a general assault,” said Duncan. “Lead on, 
my friend, for your own life, and ours.” 

The scout seemed willing to comply; but, in the 
hurry of the moment, and in the change of position, 
he had lost the direction. In vain he turned either 
cheek towards the light air; they felt equally cool. In 
this dilemma, Uncas lighted on the furrow of the can¬ 
non-ball , 16 where it had cut the ground in three ad¬ 
jacent ant-hills. 

“Give me the range!” said Hawkeye, bending to 
catch a glimpse of the direction, and then instantly 
moving onward. 

Cries, oaths, voices calling to each other, and the 
reports of muskets were now quick and incessant, 
and, apparently, on every side of them. Suddenly a 
strong glare of light flashed across the scene, the 
fog rolled upward in thick wreaths, and several can¬ 
non belched across the plain, and the roar was thrown 
heavily back from the bellowing echoes of the moun¬ 
tain. 

“ ’Tis from the fort!” exclaimed Hawkeye, turning 
short on his tracks, “and we, like stricken fools, were 

lc Cooper has been much criticized for the improbability 
of this passage. See the paragraph from Mark Twain's 
essay on Cooper, in the Appendix. But see also the com¬ 
ments of Professor W. L. Phelps. 



the Last of the Mohicans 205 

rushing to the woods, under the very knives of the 
Maquas.” 

The instant their mistake was rectified, the whole 
party retraced the error with the utmost diligence. 
Duncan willingly relinquished the support of Cora to 
the arm of Uncas, and Cora as readily accepted the 
welcome assistance. Men, hot and angry in pursuit, 
were evidently on their footsteps, and each instant 
threatened their capture, if not their destruction. 

“Point de quartier aux coquins! mT cried an eager 
pursuer, who seemed to direct the operations of the 
enemy. 

“Stand firm, and be ready, my gallant 60ths!” sud¬ 
denly exclaimed a voice above them. “Wait to see 
the enemy, fire low and sweep the glacis.” 

“Father! father!” exclaimed a piercing female cry 
from out the mist, “it is I! Alice! thy own Elsie! 
spare, oh! save your daughters!” 

“Hold!” shouted the former speaker, in the awful 
tones of parental agony, the sound reaching even to 
the woods, and rolling back in solemn echo. “ ’Tis 
she! God has restored me my children! Throw open 
the sallyport. To the field, 60ths, to the field. Pull 
not a trigger, lest ye kill my lambs! Drive off these 
dogs of France with your steel.”. 

Duncan heard the grating of the rusty hinges, and 
darting to the spot, directed by the sound, he met a 
long line of dark-red warriors, passing swiftly to¬ 
wards the glacis. He knew them for his own battal¬ 
ion of the Royal Americans, and flying to their head, 
soon swept every trace of his pursuers from before 
the works. 

For an instant, Cora and Alice had stood trembling 
and bewildered by this unexpected desertion; but be¬ 
fore either had leisure for speech, or even thought, 


17 “No quarters to the rascals.” 



206 


The Last of the Mohicans 


an officer of gigantic frame, whose locks were bleached 
with years and service, but whose air of military 
grandeur had been rather softened than destroyed by 
time, rushed out of the body of the mist, and folded 
them to his bosom, while large scalding tears rolled 
down his pale and wrinkled cheeks, and he exclaimed, 
in the peculiar accent of Scotland— 

“For this I thank thee, Lord! Let danger come 
as it will, thy servant is prepared!” 


CHAPTER XV 


“Then go we in, to know his embassy, 

Which I could, with ready guess, declare, 

Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.” 

—Shakespeare, Henry V . I, i. 

A few succeeding days were passed amid the pri¬ 
vations, the uproar, and the dangers of the siege, which 
was vigorously pressed by a power, against whose 
approaches Munro possessed no competent means of 
resistance. It appeared as if Webb, with his army, 
which lay slumbering on the banks of the Hudson, had 
utterly forgotten the strait to which his countrymen 
were reduced. Montcalm had filled the woods of the 
portage with his savages, every yell and whoop from 
whom rang through the British encampment, chilling 
the hearts of men who were already but too much 
disposed to magnify the danger . 1 

Not so, however, with the besieged. Animated by 
the words, and stimulated by the examples, of their 
leaders, they had found their courage, and maintained 
their ancient reputation, with a zeal that did justice 
to the stern character of their commander. As if 
satisfied with the toil of marching through the wil¬ 
derness to encounter his enemy, the French general, 
though of approved skill, had neglected to seize the 
adjacent mountains; whence the besieged might have 
been exterminated with impunity, and which, in the 
more modern warfare of the country, would not have 
been neglected for a single hour. This sort of con¬ 
tempt for eminences , 2 or rather dread of the labor of 
ascending them, might have been termed the beset- 

^ollowed in the first edition by “with additional terror.” 

2 One of Cooper’s military theories is set forth here. 
In 1777 during the war of the Revolution General Bur- 
goyne seized and fortified Mount Defiance, a hill over- 
[207] 



208 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ting weakness of the warfare of the period. It orig¬ 
inated in the simplicity of the Indian contests, in 
which, from the nature of the combats, and the den¬ 
sity of the forests, fortresses were rare, and artil¬ 
lery next to useless. The carelessness engendered by 
these usages descended even to the war of the Revolu¬ 
tion, and lost the States the important fortress of 
Ticonderoga, opening a way for the army of Bur- 
goyne into what was then the bosom of the country. 
We look back at this ignorance, or infatuation, which¬ 
ever it may be called, with wonder, knowing that the 
neglect of an eminence, whose difficulties, like those 
of Mount Defiance, have been so greatly exaggerated, 
would, at the present time, prove fatal to the reputa¬ 
tion of the engineer who had planned the works at 
their base, or to that of the general whose lot it was 
to defend them. 

The tourist, the valetudinarian, or the amateur of 
the beauties of nature, who, in the train of his four- 
in-hand, now rolls through the scenes we have at¬ 
tempted to describe, in quest of information, health, 
or pleasure, or floats steadily towards his object on 
those artificial waters which have sprung up under 
the administration of a statesman 3 who dared to stake 
his political character on the hazardous issue, is not 
to suppose that his ancestors traversed those hills, or 
struggled with the same currents with equal facility. 
The transportation of a single heavy gun was often 
considered equal to a victory gained; if, happily, the 
difficulties of the passage had not so far separated 

looking Fort Ticonderoga, when the American general 
had not done so on the ground that he had not enough 
men and munitions. Burgoyne’s advantageous position 
compelled the withdrawal of the garrison and loss of the 
Fort. 

^Evidently the late De Witt Clinton, who died governor 
of New York in 1892. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


209 


it from its necessary concomitant , 4 the ammunition, 
as to render it no more than a useless tube 5 of un¬ 
wieldy iron. 

The evils of this state of things pressed heavily on 
the fortunes of the resolute Scotsman, who now de¬ 
fended William Henry. Though his adversary neg¬ 
lected the hills, he had planted his batteries with 
judgment on the plain, and caused them to be served 
with vigor and skill. Against this assault, the be¬ 
sieged could only oppose the imperfect and hasty prep¬ 
arations of a fortress in the wilderness, to whose 
mounds those extended sheets of water, which 
stretched into the Canadas, bore no friendly aid, while 
they opened the way to their more fortunate enemies. 

It was on the afternoon of the fifth day of the 
siege, and the fourth of his own service in it, that 
Major Heyward profited by a parley 6 that had just 
been beaten, by repairing to the ramparts of one of 
the water bastions, to breathe the cool air from the 
lake, and to take a survey of the progress of the siege. 
He was alone, if the solitary sentinel who paced the 
mound be excepted; for the artillerists had hastened 
also to profit by the temporary suspension of their 
arduous duties. The evening was delightfully calm, 
and the light air from the limpid water fresh and 
soothing. It seemed as if, with the termination to 
the roar of artillery, and the plunging of shot, nature 
had also seized the moment to assume her mildest 
and most captivating form. The sun poured down 
his parting glory on the scene, without the oppres 
sion of those fierce rays that belonged to the climate 
and the season. The mountains looked green, and 
fresh, and lovely; tempered with the milder light, or 
softened in shadow, as thin vapors floated between 

4 In the first edition “concomitants.” 

B In the first edition “an useless tube.” 

6 The signal for a parley or conference with the enemy. 



210 


The Last of the Mohicans 


them and the sun. The numerous islands rested on 
the bosom of the Horican, some low and sunken, as 
if imbedded in the waters, and others appearing to 
hover above the element, in little hillocks of green 
velvet, among which the fishermen of the beleaguer¬ 
ing army peacefully rowed their skiffs, or floated at 
rest on the glassy mirror, in quiet pursuit of their 
game. 

The scene was at once animated and still. All that 
pertained to nature was sweet, or simply grand; 
while those parts which depended on the temper and 
movements of man, were in perfect unison. 

Two little spotless flags were abroad, the one on a 
salient angle of the fort, and the other on the ad¬ 
vanced battery of the besiegers; emblems of the truce 
which existed, not only to the acts, but it would seem, 
also, to the enmity of the combatants. Behind these, 
again, swung, heavily opening and closing in silken 
folds, the rival standards of England and France. 

A hundred gay and thoughtless young Frenchmen 
were drawing a net to the pebbly beach, within dan¬ 
gerous proximity to the sullen but silent cannon of 
the fort, while the eastern mountain was sending 
back the loud shouts and gay merriment that at¬ 
tended their sport. Some were rushing eagerly to 
enjoy the aquatic games of the lake, and others were 
already toiling their way up the neighboring hills, 
with the restless curiosity of their nation. To all 
these sports and pursuits, those of the enemy who 
watched the besieged, and the besieged themselves, 
were, however, merely the idle, though sympathizing 
spectators. Here and there a picket had, indeed, 
raised a song, or mingled in a dance, which had drawn 
the dusky savages around them, from their lairs in 
the forest. In short, everything wore rather the ap¬ 
pearance of a day of pleasure, than of an hour stolen 


The Last of the Mohicans 


211 


from the dangers and toil of a bloody and vindictive 
warfare. 

Duncan had stood in a musing attitude, contemplat¬ 
ing this scene a few minutes, when his eyes were di¬ 
rected to the glacis in front of the sallyport already 
mentioned, by the sounds of approaching footsteps. 
He walked to an angle of the bastion, and beheld the 
scout advancing, under the custody of a French of¬ 
ficer, 7 to the body of the fort. The countenance of 
Hawkeye was haggard and careworn, and his air de¬ 
jected, as though he felt the deepest degradation at 
having fallen into the power of his enemies. He was 
without his favorite weapon, and his arms were even 
bound behind him with thongs, made of the skin 
of a deer. The arrival of flags, to cover the mes¬ 
sengers of summons, had occurred so often of late, 
that when Heyward first threw his careless glance on 
this group, he expected to see another of the officers 
of the enemy, charged with a similar office; but the 
instant he recognized the tall person, and still sturdy, 
though downcast, features of his friend, the woods¬ 
man, he started with surprise, and turned to descend 
from the bastion into the bosom of the work. 

The sounds of other voices, however, caught his 
attention, and for a moment caused him to forget his 
purpose. At the inner angle of the mound, he met 
the sisters, walking along the parapet, in search, like 
himself, of air and relief from confinement. They 
had not met since that painful moment when he de¬ 
serted them on the plain only to assure their safety. 
He had parted from them, worn with care, and jaded 
with fatigue; he now saw them refreshed and bloom¬ 
ing, though still timid and anxious. Under such an 
inducement it will cause no surprise, that the young 
man lost sight, for a time, of other objects, in order 

7 The officer who brought the summons was Captain 
Louis de Bougainville, chief of staff of Montcalm. 



212 


The Last of the Mohicans 


to address them. He was, however, anticipated by 
the voice of the ardent and youthful Alice. 

“Ah! thou truant! thou recreant knight! he who 
abandons his damsels in the very lists, to abide the 
fortunes of the fray!” she cried, in affected re¬ 
proaches, which her beaming eyes and extended hands 
so flatteringly denied. “Here have we been days, nay, 
ages, expecting you at our feet, imploring mercy and 
forgetfulness of your craven backsliding, or, I should 
rather say, back-running—for verily you fled in a 
manner that no stricken deer, as our worthy friend 
the scout would say, could equal!” 

“You know that Alice means our thanks and our 
blessings,” added the graver and more thoughtful 
Cora. “In truth, we have a little wondered why you 
should so rigidly absent yourself from a place where 
the gratitude of the daughters might receive the sup¬ 
port of a parent's thanks.” 

“Your father himself could tell you that, though 
absent from your presence, I have not been altogeth¬ 
er forgetful of your safety,” returned the young man. 
“The mastery of yonder village of huts,” pointing to 
the neighboring intrenched camp, “has been keenly 
disputed; and he who holds it is sure to be possessed 
of this fort, and that which it contains. My days and 
my nights have all been passed there since we sep¬ 
arated, because I thought that duty called me thither. 
But,” he added with an air of chagrin, which he en¬ 
deavored, though unsuccessfully, to conceal, “had I 
been aware that what I then believed a soldier’s con¬ 
duct could so be construed, shame would have been 
added to the list of reasons.” 

“Heyward!—Duncan!” exclaimed Alice, bending 
forward to read his half-averted countenance, until a 
lock of her golden hair rested on her flushed check, 
and nearly concealed the tear that had started to her 


The Last of the Mohicans 


213 


eye , 8 “did I think this idle tongue of mine had pained 
you, I would silence it forever. Cora can say, if Cora 
would, how justly we have prized your services, and 
how deep—I had almost said, how fervent—is our 
gratitude.” 

“And will Cora attest the truth of this?” cried 
Duncan, suffering the cloud to be chased from his 
countenance by a smile of open pleasure. “What says 
our graver sister? Will she find an excuse for the 
neglect of the knight in the duty 9 of a soldier?” 

Cora made no immediate answer, but turned her 
face towards the water, as if looking on the sheet of 
the Horican. When she did bend her dark eyes on 
the young man, they were yet filled with an expres¬ 
sion of anguish that at once drove every thought but 
that of kind solicitude from his mind. 

“You are not well, dearest Miss Munro!” he ex¬ 
claimed. “We have trifled, while you are in suffer¬ 
ing!” 

“ ’Tis nothing,” she answered, gently refusing his 
offered support, with feminine reserve. “That I can¬ 
not see the sunny side of the picture of life, like this 
artless but ardent enthusiast,” she added, laying her 
hand lightly, but affectionately, on the arm of her 
anxious sister, “is the penalty of experience, and, 
perhaps, the misfortune of my nature. See,” she 
continued, with an effort, as if determined to shake 
off every infirmity, in a sense of duty, “look around 
you, Major Heyward, and tell me what a prospect 
is this, for the daughter of a soldier, whose greatest 
happiness is his honor and his military renown!” 

“Neither ought nor shall be tarnished by circum¬ 
stances, over which he has had no control,” Duncan 
warmly replied. “But your words recall me to my 
own duty. I go now to your gallant father, to hear 

8 In the first edition “anxious eye.” 

9 In the first edition “ardour.” 



214 


The Last of the Mohicans 


his determination in matters of the last moment to 
our defense. God bless you in every fortune, noble 
—Cora—I may, and must call you.’’ She frankly 
gave him her hand, though her lips quivered, and 
her cheeks gradually became of an ashy paleness. 
“In every fortune, I know you will be an ornament 
and an honor to your sex. Alice, adieu!”—his tones 
changed from admiration to tenderness—“adieu, 
Alice; we shall soon meet again; as conquerors, I 
trust, and amid rejoicings!” 

Without waiting for an answer from either of the 
maidens, the young man threw himself down the 
grassy steps of the bastion, and moving rapidly across 
the parade he was quickly in the presence of their 
father. Munro was pacing his narrow apartment, 
with a disturbed air, and gigantic strides, as Duncan 
entered. 

“You have anticipated my wishes, Major Hey¬ 
ward,” he said. “I was about to request—this 
favor.” 

“I am so sorry to see, sir, that the messenger I 
so warmly recommended, has returned in custody of 
the French! I hope there is no reason to distrust 
his fidelity?” 

“The fidelity of the ‘Long Rifle’ is well known to 
me,” returned Munro, “and is above suspicion; 
though his usual good fortune seems, at last, to 
have failed. Montcalm has got him, and with the 
accursed politeness of his nation, he has sent him 
in with a doleful tale, of ‘knowing how I value the 
fellow, he could not think of retaining him/ A 
jesuitical way, that, Major Duncan Heyward, of tell¬ 
ing a man of his misfortunes!” 

“But the general and his succor?” 

“Did ye look to the south as ye entered, and 
could ye not see them?” said the old soldier, laugh- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


215 


ing bitterly. “Hoot! hoot! you’re an impatient boy, 
sir, and cannot give the gentlemen leisure for their 
march!” 

“They are coming, them? The scout has said as 
much?” 

“When? and by what path? for the dunce has 
omitted to tell me this. There is a letter, it would 
seem, too; and that is the only agreeable part of the 
matter. For the customary attentions of your Mar¬ 
quis of Montcalm—I warrant me, Duncan, that he 
of Lothian would buy a dozen such marquisates— 
but, if the news of the letter were bad, the gentility 
of this French monsieur would certainly compel 
him to let us know it.” 

“He keeps the letter, then, while he releases the 
messenger!” 

“Aye, that does he, and all for the sake of what 
you call your ‘bonhommie .’ 10 I would venture, if the 
truth was known, the fellow’s grandfather taught 
the noble science of dancing.” 

“But what says the scout? He has eyes and ears, 
and a tongue. What verbal report does he make?” 

“Oh! sir, he is not wanting in natural organs, and 
he is free to tell all that he has seen and heard. 
The whole amount is this: there is a fort of his 
majesty’s on the banks of the Hudson, called Ed¬ 
ward, in honor of his gracious highness of York, 
you’ll know; and it is well filled with armed men, 
as such a work should be.” 

“But was there no movement, no signs of any in¬ 
tention to advance to our relief?” 

“There were the morning and evening parades, 
and when one of the provincial loons—you’ll know, 
Duncan, you’re half a Scotchman yourself—when 
one of them dropped his powder over his porretch, 


’Good fellowship, geniality. 



216 


The Last of the Mohicans 


if it touched the coals, it just burnt!” Then sud¬ 
denly changing his bitter, ironical manner, to one 
more grave and thoughtful, he continued, “and yet 
there might, and must be something in that letter, 
which it would be well to know!” 

“Our decision should be speedy,” said Duncan, 
gladly availing himself of this change of humor to 
press the more important objects of their interview. 
“I cannot conceal from you, sir, that the camp will 
not be much longer tenable; and I am sorry to add, 
that things appear no better in the fort;—more than 
half our guns are bursted . 11 

“And how should it be otherwise! some were 
fished from the bottom of the lake; some have been 
rusting in the woods since the discovery of the 
country; and some were never guns at all—mere 
privateersmen’s 12 playthings! Do you think, sir, 
you can have Woolwich Warren in the midst of a 
wilderness; three thousand miles from Great Brit¬ 
ain?” 

“Our walls are crumbling about our ears, and 
provisions begin to fail us,” continued Heyward, 
without regarding this new burst of indignation. 
“Even the men show signs of discontent and alarm.” 

“Major. Heyward,” said Munro, turning to his 
youthful associate with all the dignity of his years 
and superior rank, “I should have served his maj¬ 
esty for half a century, and earned these gray hairs, 
in vain, were I ignorant of all you say, and of all 
the pressing nature of our circumstances. Still 

“This form, still non-standard in our own time, comes 
rather surprisingly from Heyward, who is supposed to 
speak educated English. 

12 A privateersman is an officer or seaman on a '‘pri¬ 
vateer,” an armed vessel commissioned to cruise against 
the commerce or war vessels of an enemy. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


217 


there is everything due to the honor of the king’s 
arms, and something to ourselves. While there is 
hope of succor, this fortress will I defend, though 
it be done with pebbles gathered on the lake shore. 
It is a sight of the letter, therefore, that we want, 
that we may know the intentions of the man the 
Earl of Loudon 13 has left among us as his substi¬ 
tute.” 

“And can I be of service in the matter?” 

“Sir, you can; the Marquis of Montcalm has, in 
addition to his other civilities, invited me to a per¬ 
sonal interview between the works and his own 
camp; in order, as he says, to impart some addi¬ 
tional information. Now, I think it would not be 
wise to show any undue solicitude to meet him, and 
I would employ you, as an officer of rank, as my 
substitute; for it would but ill comport with the 
honor of Scotland to let it be said one of her gentle¬ 
men was outdone in civility by a native of any other 
country on earth.” 

Without assuming the supererogatory task of en¬ 
tering into a discussion of the comparative merits 
of national courtesy, Duncan cheerfully assented to 
supply the place of the veteran in the approaching 
interview. A long and confidential communication 
now succeeded, during which the young man re¬ 
ceived some additional insight into his duty, from 
the experience and native acuteness of his com¬ 
mander, and then the former took his leave. 

As Duncan could only act as the representative 
of the commandant of the fort, the ceremonies which 

13 Usually called by historians Lord Loudoun. He was 
the commander in chief of the colonies and was then 
attacking Louisburg. General Webb at Fort Edward de¬ 
fended his failure to send a rescue party to Fort William 
Henry by saying that Loudoun had left him too small a 
force, i. e., but 1600 active men. 



218 


The Last of the Mohicans 


should have accompanied a meeting between the 
heads of the adverse forces were, of course, dis¬ 
pensed with. The truce still existed, and with a 
roll and beat of the drum, and covered by a little 
white flag, Duncan left the sallyport , 14 within ten 
minutes after his instructions were ended. He was 
received by the French officer in advance with the 
usual formalities, and immediately accompanied to a 
distant marquee of the renowned soldier who led 15 
the forces of France. 

The general of the enemy received the youthful 
messenger, surrounded by his principal officers, and 
by a swarthy band of the native chiefs, who had 
followed him to the field, with the warriors of their 
several tribes. Heyward paused short, when, in 
glancing his eyes rapidly over the dark group of 
the latter, he beheld the malignant countenance of 
Magua, regarding him with the calm but sullen at¬ 
tention which marked the expression of that subtle 
savage. A slight exclamation of surprise even burst 
from the lips of the young man; but instantly recol¬ 
lecting his errand, and the presence in which he 
stood, he suppressed every appearance of emotion, 
and turned to the hostile leader, who had already 
advanced a step to receive him. 

The Marquis of Montcalm was, at the period of 
which we write, in the flower of his age, and, it may 
be added, in the zenith of his fortunes. But even 
in that enviable situation, he was affable, and dis¬ 
tinguished as much for his attention to the forms 
of courtesy, as for that chivalrous courage which, 
only two short years afterward, induced him to 
throw away his life on the plains of Abraham. 

14 Lieutenant-Colonel Young was the officer sent to meet 
Montcalm. See I, note 15. 

15 In the first edition “lead.” 




The Last of the Mohicans 


219 


Duncan, in turning* his eyes from the malign ex¬ 
pression of Magua, suffered them to rest with pleas¬ 
ure on the smiling and polished features, and the 
noble military air, of the French general. 

“Monsieur,” said the latter, “j,'ai beaucoup de 
plaisir a—bah!—ou est cet interprete ?” 18 

“Je crois, monsieur, qu’il ne sera pas necessaire,” 
Heyward modestly replied. “Je parle un peu 
frangais.” 

“Ah! j’en suis bien aise,” said Montcalm, taking 
Duncan familiarly by the arm, and leading him 
deep into,' the marquee, a little out of earshot. “Je 
deteste ces fripons-la; on ne sait jamais sur quel 
pie on est avec eux. Eh bien! Monsieur,” he con¬ 
tinued, still speaking in French, “though I should 
have been proud of receiving your commandant, I 
am very happy that he has seen proper to employ 
an officer so distinguished, and who, I am sure, is 
so amiable as yourself.” 

Duncan bowed low, pleased with the compliment, 
in spite of a most heroic determination to suffer no 
artifice to allure him into a forgetfulness of the in¬ 
terests of his prince; and Montcalm, after a pause 
of a moment, as if to collect his thoughts, pro¬ 
ceeded— 

“Your commandant is a brave man, and well 
qualified to repel my assaults. Mais, Monsieur, is 
it not time to begin to take more counsel of human¬ 
ity, and less of your own courage? The one as 
strongly characterizes the hero as the other!” 

“We consider the qualities as inseparable,” re- 

ltf “Sir, I am much pleased — Pshaw, where is the inter¬ 
preter?” The next sentences mean, “I believe, sir, that 
he will not be necessary. I speak a little French.” “Ah, 
I am glad of that. I detest those rascals. One never 
knows on which foot one stands with them. Well, sir — ” 



220 


The Last of the Mohicans 


turned Duncan, smiling, “but while we find in the 
vigor of your excellency every motive to stimulate 
the one, we can, as yet, see no particular call for 
the exercise of the other/’ 

Montcalm, in his turn, slightly bowed; but it was 
with the air of a man too practised to remember 
the language of flattery. After musing a moment, 
he added: 

“It is possible my glasses have deceived me, and 
that your works resist our cannon better than I had 
supposed. You know our force?” 

“Our accounts vary,” said Duncan, carelessly. 
“The highest, however, has not exceeded twenty 
thousand men.” 

The Frenchman bit his lip, and fastened his eyes 
keenly on the other, as if to read his thoughts; then 
with a readiness peculiar to himself, he continued, 
as if assenting to the truth of an enumeration, which 
he knew was not credited by his visitor. 

“It is a poor compliment to the vigilance of us 
soldiers, Monsieur, that do what we will, we never 
can conceal our numbers. If it were to be done at 
all, one would believe it might succeed in these 
woods. Though you think it too soon to listen to 
the call of humanity,” he added, smiling archly, “I 
may be permitted to believe that gallantry is not 
forgotten by one so young as yourself. The daugh¬ 
ters of the commandant, I learn, have passed into 
the fort since it was invested?” 

“It is true, monsieur; but, so far from weakening 
our efforts, they set us an example of courage in 
their own fortitude. Were nothing but resolution 
necessary to repel so accomplished a soldier as M. 
de Montcalm , 17 I would gladly trust the defense of 
William Henry to the elder of those ladies.” 


I7 Monsieur de Montcalm. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


221 


“We have a wise ordinance in our Salique laws,‘ s 
which says, ‘The crown of France shall never de¬ 
grade the lance to the distaff,’ ” said Montcalm, 
dryly, and with a little hauteur; but instantly ad¬ 
ding, with his former frank and easy air, “as all 
the nobler qualities are hereditary, I can easily 
credit you; though, as I said before, courage has 
its limits, and humanity must not be forgotten. I 
trust, monsieur, you come authorized to treat for 
the surrender of the place?” 

“Has your excellency found our defense so feeble 
as to believe the measure necessary?” 

“I should be sorry to have the defense protracted 
in such a manner as to irritate my red friends 
there,” continued Montcalm, glancing his eyes at 
the group of grave and attentive Indians, without 
attending to the other’s question. “I find it diffi¬ 
cult, even now, to limit them to the usages of war.” 

Heyward was silent; for a painful recollection of 
the dangers he had so recently escaped came over 
his mind, and recalled the images of those defense¬ 
less beings who had shared in all his sufferings. 

“Ces messieurs-la,” 19 said Montcalm, following up 
the advantage which he conceived he had gained, 
“are most formidable when baffled; and it is neces¬ 
sary to tell you with what difficulty they are re¬ 
strained in their anger. Eh bien, monsieur! shall 
we speak of the terms?” 20 

“I fear your excellency has been deceived as to 
the strength of William Henry, and the resources 
of its garrison!” 

“I have not sat down before Quebec, but an earthen 

“The Old French Salic code did not allow, women to 
hold certain forms of property or to succeed to the throne. 

w These gentlemen — well sir —•” 

20 The first edition had “terms of the surrender.” 



222 


The Last of the Mohicans 


work, that is defended by twenty-three hundred gal¬ 
lant men,” was the laconic, though polite reply. 

“Our mounds are earthen certainly—nor are they 
seated on the rocks of Cape Diamond; but they stand 
on that shore which proved so destructive to Dieskau 
and his brave army. There is also a powerful force 
within a few hours’ march of us, which we account 
upon as part of our means of defense.” 

“Some six or eight thousand men,” returned Mont¬ 
calm, with much apparent indifference, “whom their 
leader wisely judges to be safer within their works 
than in the field.” 

It was now Heyward’s turn to bite his lips with 
vexation, as the other so coolly alluded to a force 
which the young man knew he overrated. Both mused 
a little in silence, when Montcalm renewed the con¬ 
versation in a way that showed he believed the visit 
of his guest was, solely, to propose terms of capitula¬ 
tion. On the other hand, Heyward began to throw 
sundry inducements in the way of the French general 
to betray the discoveries he had made through the 
intercepted letter. The artifices of neither, however, 
succeeded; and, after a protracted and fruitless inter¬ 
view, Duncan took his leave, favorably impressed 
with an opinion of the courtesy and talents of the 
enemy’s captain, but as ignorant of what he came to 
learn as when he arrived. Montcalm followed him as 
far as the entrance of the marquee, renewing his in¬ 
vitations to the commandant of the fort to give him 
an immediate meeting in the open ground between 
the two armies. 

There they separated, and Duncan returned to the 
advanced post of the French, accompanied as before; 
whence he instantly proceeded to the fort, and to the 
quarters of his own commander. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Edg . — “Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.” 

Shakespeare, King Lear, V, i. 

Major Heyward found Munro attended only by 
his daughters. Alice sat upon his knee, parting the 
gray hairs on the forehead of the old man with her 
delicate fingers; and, whenever he affected to frown 
on her trifling, appeasing his assumed anger by press¬ 
ing her ruby lips fondly on his wrinkled brow. Cora 
was seated nigh them, a calm and amused looker-on; 
regarding the wayward movements of her more youth¬ 
ful sister, with that species of maternal fondness 
which characterized her love for Alice. Not only 
the dangers through which they had passed, but 
those which still impended above them, appeared to 
be momentarily forgotten in the soothing indulgence 
of such a family meeting. It seemed as if they had 
profited by the short truce, to devote an instant to 
the purest and best affections: the daughters forget¬ 
ting their fears, and the veteran his cares, in the se¬ 
curity 4 of the moment. Of this scene, Duncan, who 
in his eagerness to report his arrival had entered un¬ 
announced, stood many moments an unobserved 
and a delighted spectator. But the quick and dancing 
eyes of Alice soon caught a glimpse of his figure 
reflected from a glass, and she sprang blushing from 
her father’s knee, exclaiming aloud— 

“Major Heyward!” 

“What of the lad?” demanded the father. “I have 
sent him to crack a little with the Frenchman. 3 Ha! 
sir, you are young, and you’re nimble! Away with you, 
ye baggage; as if there were not troubles enough 

"In the first edition, “in the stillness and security.” 

firlold a shprt colloquy of familiar talk. 

[ 223 ] 



224 


The Last of the Mohicans 


for a soldier, without having his camp filled with 
such prattling hussies as yourself!” 

Alice laughingly followed her sister, who instantly 
led the way from an apartment where she perceived 
their presence was no longer desirable. Munro, in¬ 
stead of demanding the result of the young man’s mis¬ 
sion, paced the room for a few moments, with his 
hands behind his back, and his head inclined toward 
the floor, like a man lost in thought. At length he 
raised his eyes, glistening with a father’s fondness, 
and exclaimed— 

“They are a pair of excellent girls, Heyward, and 
such as any one may boast of.” 

“You are not now to learn of my opinion of your 
daughters, Colonel Munro.” 

“True, lad, true,” interrupted the impatient old 
man. “You were about opening your mind more 
fully on that matter the day you got in; but I did 
not think it becoming in an old soldier to be talking 
of nuptial blessings and wedding jokes when the 
enemies of his king were likely to be unbidden guests 
at the feast! But I was wrong, boy, I was wrong 
there; and I am now ready to hear what you have 
to say.” 

“Notwithstanding the pleasure your assurance 
gives me, dear sir, I have just now a message from 
Montcalm—” 

“Let the Frenchman and all his hosts go to the 
devil, sir!” exclaimed the veteran, frowning severely. 
“He is not yet master of William Henry, nor shall he 
ever be, provided Webb proves himself the man he 
should. No, sir! thank Heaven, we are not yet in 
such a strait that it can be said Munro is too much 
pressed to discharge the little domestic duties of his 
own family! Your mother was the only child of my 
bosom friend, Duncan; and I'll just give-you a hear- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


225 


ing, though all the knights of St. Louis 3 were in a 
body at the sallyport, with the French saint at their 
head, craving to speak a word under favor. A pretty 
degree of knighthood, sir, is that which can be bought 
with sugar-hogsheads! and then your twopenny mar- 
quisates 4 ! The Thistle 5 is the order for dignity and 
antiquity; the veritable ‘nemo me impune lacessit''’ 
of chivalry? Ye had ancestors in that degree, Dun¬ 
can, and they were an ornament to the nobles of Scot¬ 
land. 

Heyward, who perceived that his superior took a 
malicious pleasure in exhibiting his contempt for the 
message of the French general, was fain to humor a 
spleen that he knew would be shortlived; he there¬ 
fore replied with as much indifference as he could 
assume on such a subject — 

“My request, as you know, sir, went so far as to 
presume to the honor of being your son.” 

“Aye, boy, you found words to make yourself very 
plainly comprehended! But let me ask ye , 7 sir, have 

3 An order established by Louis NIV in 1693 and named 
after Louis XI, a leader of two Crusades and canonized 
by Pope' Boniface. 

“Spelled “Marquessates” in the first edition. 

5 The national flower of Scotland. 

6 The motto of Scotland. The Latin means “no one in¬ 
jures me with impunity.” 

T “Ye” is historically the nominative plural form. The 
Scottish Colonel probably uses “ye” throughout the plural. 
It was supplanted in nominative use in the standard lan¬ 
guage by “you” of the oblique cases, after the Shakes¬ 
pearean period, though for a time a distinction was ob¬ 
served, as in the Authorized Version of the Scriptures. 
“Harkee,” used by several of Cooper’s characters, may 
be a weakening of “hark you” or ‘hark ye.” “Sit ye 
down,” said by the Colonel a little farther on, has the 
nominative form. An older idiom is preserved in “fare 
thee well,” “hie thee hence,” “sat him down,” etc., where 
the oblique case of the pronoun appears. 



226 


The Last of the Mohicans 


you been as intelligible to the girl?” 

“On my honor, no,” exclaimed Duncan, warmly. 
“There would have been an abuse of a confided trust, 
had 1 taken an advantage of my situation for such a 
purpose!” 

“Your notions are those of a gentleman, Major 
Heyward, and well enough in their place. But Cora 
Munro is a maiden too discreet, and of a mind too 
elevated and improved to need the guardianship even 
of a father.’ 1 ’ 

“Cora!” 

“Aye—Cora! we are talking of your pretensions 
to Miss Munro, are we not, sir?” 

“I—I—I was not conscious of having mentioned 
her name,” said Duncan, stammering through em¬ 
barrassment. 

“And to marry whom, then, did you wish my con¬ 
sent, Major Heyward?” demanded the old soldier, 
erecting himself in the dignity of offended feeling. 

“You have another, and not less lovely child.” 

“Alice!” exclaimed the father, in an astonishment 
equal to that with which Duncan had just repeated 
the name of her sister. 

“Such was the direction of my wishes, sir.” 

The young man awaited in silence the result of the 
extraordinary effect produced by a communication 
which, it now appeared, was so unexpected. For sev¬ 
eral minutes Munro paced the chamber with long 
and rapid strides, his rigid features working con¬ 
vulsively, and every faculty seemingly absorbed in 
the musings of his own mind. At length, he paused 
directly in front of Heyward, and riveting his eyes 
upon those of the other, he said, with a lip that quiv¬ 
ered violently,— 

“Duncan Heyward, I have loved you for the sake 
of him whose blood is in your veins; I have loved 
you for your own good qualities; and I have loved 


The Last of the Mohicans 


227 


you because I thought you would contribute to the 
happiness of my child. But all this love would turn 
to hatred, were I assured that what I so much ap¬ 
prehend is true." 

“God forbid that any act or thought of mine should 
lead to such a change!" exclaimed the young man, 
whose eye never quailed under the penetrating look 
it encountered. Without adverting to the impos¬ 
sibility of the other’s comprehending those feelings 
which were hid in his own bosom, Munro suffered 
himself to be appeased by the unaltered countenance 
he met, and with a voice softened, he continued— 

“You would be my son, Duncan, and you’re ignorant 
of the history of the man you wish to call your father. 
Sit ye down, young man, and I will open to you the 
wounds of a seared heart, in as few words as may 
be suitable.’’ 

By this time, the message of Montcalm was as 
much forgotten by him who bore it as by the man 
for whose ears it was intended. Each drew a chair, 
and while the veteran communed a few moments with 
his own thoughts, apparently in sadness, the youth 
suppressed his impatience in a look and attitude of 
respectful attention. At length the former spoke— 

“You’ll know already, Major Heyward, that my 
family was both ancient and honorable," commenced 
the Scotsman, “though it might not altogether be en¬ 
dowed with that amount of wealth that should cor¬ 
respond with its degree. I was, may be, such a one 
as yourself, when I plighted my faith to Alice 
Graham; the only child of a neighboring laird of some 
estate. But the connection was disagreeable to her 
father, on more accounts than my poverty. I did, 
therefore, what an honest man should; restored the 
maiden her troth, and departed the country, in the 
service of my king. I had seen many regions, and 
had shed much blood in different lands, before duty 


228 


The Last of the Mohicans 


called me to the islands of the West Indies. There 
it was my lot to form a connection with one who 
in time became my wife, and the mother of Cora. 
She was the daughter of a gentleman of those isles, 
by a lady, whose misfortune it was, if you will,” said 
the old man, proudly, “to be descended, remotely, from 
that unfortunate class, who are so basely enslaved 
to administer to the wants of a luxurious people! 
Aye, sir, that is a curse entailed on Scotland by her 
unnatural union with a foreign and trading people. 
But could I find a man among them, who would dare 
to reflect her descent on my child, he should feel the 
weight of a father’s anger! Ha! Major Heyward 
you are yourself born at the south, where these un¬ 
fortunate beings are considered of a race inferior 
to your own!” 

“ ’Tis most unfortunately true, sir,” said Duncan, 
unable any longer to prevent his eyes from sinking 
to the floor in embarrassment. 

“And you cast it on my child as a reproach! You 
scorn to mingle the blood of the Heywards with one 
so degraded—lovely and virtuous though she may 
be?” fiercely demanded the jealous parent. 

“Heaven protect me from a prejudice so unworthy 
of my reason!” returned Duncan, at the same time 
conscious of such a feeling, and that as deeply rooted 
as if it had been ingrafted in his nature. “The 
sweetness, the beauty, the witchery of your younger 
daughter, Colonel Munro, might explain my motives, 
without imputing to me this injustice.” 

“Ye are right, sir,” returned the old man, again 
changing his tones to those of gentleness, or rather 
softness. “The girl is the image of what her mother 
was at her years, and before she had become acquaint¬ 
ed with grief. When death deprived me of my wife 
I returned to Scotland, enriched by the marriage; 
and would you think it, Duncan! the suffering angel 


The Last of the Mohicans 


229 


had remained in the heartless state of celibacy twenty 
long years, and that for the sake of a man who could 
forget her! She did more, sir; she overlooked my 
want of faith, and all difficulties being now removed, 
she took me for her husband.” 

“And became the mother of Alice?” exclaimed 
Duncan, with an eagerness that might have proved 
dangerous at a moment when the thoughts of Munro 
were less occupied than at present. 

“She did, indeed,” said the old man, “and dearly 
did she pay for the blessing she bestowed. But she 
is a saint in heaven, sir; and it ill becomes one whose 
foot rests on the grave to mourn a lot so blessed. I 
had her but a single year, though; a short term of 
happiness for one who had seen her youth fade in 
hopeless pining.” 

There was something so commanding 5 in the distress 
of the old man, that Heyward did not dare to ven¬ 
ture a syllable of consolation. Munro sat utterly 
unconscious of the other’s presence, his features ex¬ 
posed and working with the anguish of his regrets, 
while heavy tears fell from his eyes, and rolled un¬ 
heeded from his cheeks to the floor. At length he 
moved, as if suddenly recovering his recollection; 
when he arose, and taking a single turn across the 
room, he approached his companion with an air of 
high military grandeur, and demanded— 

“Have you not, Major Heyward, some communica¬ 
tion, that I should hear, from the Marquis de Mont¬ 
calm?” 

Duncan started, in his turn, and immediately com¬ 
menced, in an embarrassed voice, to repeat the half 
forgotten message. It is unnecessary to dwell upon 

8 In the first edition “commanding if not awful.” Coop¬ 
er paints General Munro, the veteran general whom he 
takes from history, as surrendering to his emotions more 
easily than any other character in the narrative. 



230 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the evasive, though polite manner, with which the 
French general had eluded every attempt of Heyward 
to worm from him the purport of the communication 
he had proposed making, or on the decided, though 
still polished message, by which he now gave his 
enemy to understand, that unless he chose to receive 
it in person, he should not receive it at all. As Munro 
listened to the lengthened detail of Duncan, the ex¬ 
cited feelings of the father gradually gave way before 
the obligations of his station, and when the other 
was done, he saw before him nothing but the veteran, 
swelling with the wounded feelings of a soldier. 

“You have said enough, Major Heyward!” exclaimed 
the angry old man, “enough to make a volume of 
commentary on French civility! Here has this gentle¬ 
man invited me to a conference, and when I send him 
a capable substitute, for ye’re all that, Duncan, though 
your years are but few, he answers me with a riddle!” 

“He may have thought less favorably of the sub¬ 
stitute, my dear sir,” returned Duncan, smiling, “and 
you will remember that the invitation, which he now 
repeats, was to the commandant of the works, and 
not to his second.” 

“Well, sir, is not a substitute clothed with all the 
power and dignity of him who grants the commission? 
He wishes to confer with Munro! Faith, sir, I have 
much inclination to indulge the man, if it should only 
be to let him behold the firm countenance we main¬ 
tain in spite of his numbers and summons. There 
might be no bad policy in such a stroke, young man.” 

Duncan, who believed it of the last importance 
that they should speedily come at the contents of the 
letter borne by the scout, gladly encouraged this idea. 

“Without doubt, he could gather no confidence by 
witnessing our indifference,” he said. 

“You never said truer word. I could wish, sir, 
that he would visit the works in open day, and in 


The Last of the Mohicans 


231 


the form of a storming party: that is the least failing 
method of proving the countenance of an enemy, and 
would be far preferable to the battering system he 
has chosen. The beauty and manliness of warfare 
has been much deformed, Major Heyward, by the 
arts of your Monsieur Vauban. Our ancestors were 
far above such scientific cowardice!” 

“It may be very true, sir; but we are now obliged 
to repel art by art. What is your pleasure in the 
matter of the interview?” 

“I will meet the Frenchman, and that without 
fear or delay; promptly, sir, as becomes a servant of 
my royal master. Go, Major Heyward, and give them 
a flourish of the music; 9 and send out a messenger to 
let them know who is coming. We will follow with 
a small guard, for such respect is due to one who 
holds the honor of his king in keeping; and harkee, 
Duncan,” he added, in a half-whisper, though they 
were alone, “it may be prudent to have some aid at 
hand, in case there should be treachery at the bottom 
of it all.” 

The young man availed himself of this order to 
quit the apartment; and, as the day was fast coming 
to a close, he hastened, without delay, to make the 
necessary arrangements. A very few minutes only 
were necessary to parade a few files and to dispatch 
an orderly with a flag to announce the approach of the 
commandant of the fort. When Duncan had done both 
these, he led the guard to the sallyport, near which 
he found his superior ready, waiting his appearance. 
As soon as the usual ceremonials of a military depar¬ 
ture were observed, the veteran and his more youthful 
companion left the fortress, attended by the escort. 

They had proceeded only a hundred yards from the 

“See XV, note 6. The signal that a cessation of hostili¬ 
ties for a parley is desired. 



232 


The Last of the Mohicans 


works, when the little array which attended the French 
general to the conference was seen issuing from the 
hollow way which formed the bed of a brook that ran 
between the batteries of the besiegers and the fort. 
From the moment that Munro left his own works to 
appear in front of his enemies, his air had been grand, 
and his step and countenance highly military. The 
instant he caught a glimpse of the white plume that 
waved in the hat of Montcalm, his eye lighted , 10 and 
age no longer appeared to possess any influence over 
his vast and still muscular person. 

“Speak to the boys to be watchful, sir,” he said, 
in an undertone, to Duncan, “and to look well to their 
flints and steel, for one is never safe with a servant 
of the Louis’s ;' 1 at the same time, we will show them 
the front of men in deep security. Ye’ll understand 
me, Major Heyward!” 

He was interrupted by the clamor of a drum from 
the approaching Frenchmen, which was immediately 
answered, when each party pushed an orderly advance, 
bearing a white flag, and the wary Scotsman halted, 
with his guard close at his back. As soon as this 
slight salutation had passed, Montcalm moved to¬ 
wards them with a quick but graceful step, baring 
his head to the veteran, and dropping his spotless 
plume nearly to the earth in courtesy. If the air of 
Munro was more commanding and manly, it wanted 
both in the ease and insinuating polish of that of 
the Frenchman. Neither spoke for a few moments, 
each regarding the other with curious and interested 
eyes. Then, as became his superior rank and the 
nature of the interview, Montcalm broke the silence. 
After uttering the usual words of greeting, he turned 

10 In the first edition •‘lighted with a consciousness of 
his own daring.” 

“‘‘These Louis” in the first edition. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


233 


to Duncan, and continued with a smile of recognition, 
sneaking always in French— 

“I am rejoiced, Monsieur, that you have given us 
the pleasure of your company on this occasion. There 
will be no necessity to employ an ordinary interpre¬ 
ter; for, in your hands, I feel the same security as 
if I spoke your language myself.” 

Duncan acknowledged the compliment, when Mont¬ 
calm, turning to his guard, which, in imitation of 
that of the enemies, pressed close upon him, con¬ 
tinued,— 

“En arriere, mes enfans—il fait chaud; retirez- 
vous un peu.” 13 

Before Major Heyward would imitate this proof 
of confidence, he glanced his eyes around the plain, 
and beheld, with uneasiness, the numerous dusky 
groups of savages, who looked out from the margin 
of the surrounding woods, curious spectators of the 
pending interview. 

“Monsieur de Montcalm will readily acknowledge 
the difference of our situation,” he said, with some 
embarrassment, pointing at the same time towards 
those dangerous foes who were to be seen in almost 
every direction. “Were we to dismiss our guard, we 
should stand here at the mercy of our enemies.” 

“Monsieur, you have the plighted faith of ‘un gen- 
tilhomme frangais,” 3 for your safety,” returned 
Montcalm, laying his hand impressively on his heart, 
“and it should suffice.” 

“It shall. Fall back,” Duncan added to the officer 
who led the escort, “Fall back, sir, beyond hearing, 
and wait for orders.” 

Munro witnessed this movement with manifest un¬ 
easiness, nor did he fail to demand an instant ex¬ 
planation. 

l2 “Back boys. It is warm. Fall back a little.” 

18 A French gentleman. 



234 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Is it not your 14 interest, sir, to betray no distrust ?” 
retorted Duncan. ‘‘Monsieur de Montcalm pledges 
his word for our safety, and I have ordered the men 
to withdraw a little, in order to prove how much we 
depend on his assurance.” 

“It may be all right, sir, but I have no overween¬ 
ing reliance on the faith of these marquesses, or mar¬ 
quis, as they call themselves. Their patents of no¬ 
bility are too common, to be certain that they bear 
the seal of true honor.” 

“You forget, dear sir, that we confer with an offi¬ 
cer, distinguished alike in Europe and America for 
his deeds. From a soldier of his reputation, we can 
have nothing to apprehend.” 

The old man made a gesture of resignation, though 
his rigid features still betrayed his obstinate adher¬ 
ence to a distrust which he derived from a sort of 
hereditary contempt of his enemy, rather than from 
any present signs which might warrant so unchar¬ 
itable a feeling. Montcalm waited patiently until 
this little dialogue in demivoice was ended, when he 
drew nigher, and opened the subject of their confer¬ 
ence. 

“I have solicited this interview from your superior. 
Monsieur,” he said, “because I believe he will allow 
himself to be persuaded that he has already done 
everything which is necessary for the honor of his 
prince, and will now listen to the admonitions of 
humanity. I will forever bear testimony that his 
resistance has been gallant, and was continued so long 
as there was any hope.” 

When this opening was translated to Munro, he 
answered with dignity, but with sufficient courtesy, 

“However I may prize such testimony from Mon¬ 
sieur Montcalm, it will be more valuable when it 
shall be better merited.” 


i4 In the first edition “our interest.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


235 


The French general smiled, as Duncan gave him 
the purport of this reply, and observed — 

‘‘What is now so freely accorded to approved cour¬ 
age, may be refused to useless obstinacy. Monsieur 
would wish to see my camp, and witness, for himself, 
our numbers, and the impossibility of his resisting 
them with success?” 

“I know that the king of France is well served,” 
returned the unmoved Scotsman, as soon as Duncan 
ended the translation, ‘‘but my own royal master has 
as many faithful troops.” 

‘‘Though not at hand, fortunately for us,” said 
Montcalm, without waiting, in his ardor, for the in¬ 
terpreter. ‘‘There is a destiny in war, to which a 
brave man knows how to submit, with the same cour¬ 
age that he faces his foes.” 

“Had I been conscious that Monsieur Montcalm was 
master of the English, I would have spared myself 
the trouble of so awkward a translation,” said the 
vexed Duncan, dryly; remembering instantly his re¬ 
cent by-play with Munro. 

“Your pardon, Monsieur,” rejoined the French¬ 
man, suffering a slight color to appear on his dark 
cheek. “There is a vast difference between under¬ 
standing and speaking a foreign tongue. You will 
therefore, please, to assist me still.” Then after a 
short pause, he added, “These hills afford us every 
opportunity of reconnoitering your works, messieurs, 
and I am possibly as well acquainted with their weak 
condition as you can be yourselves.” 

“Ask the French general if his glasses can reach 
to the Hudson,” said Munro, proudly, “and if he knows 
when and where to expect the army of Webb.” 

“Let General Webb be his own interpreter,” re¬ 
turned the politic Montcalm, suddenly extending an 
open letter towards Munro, as he spoke. “You will 


236 


The Last of the Mohicans 


there learn, monsieur, that his movements are not 
likely to prove embarrassing to my army.” 

The veteran seized the offered paper, without 
awaiting for Duncan to translate the speech, and 
with an eagerness that betrayed how important he 
deemed its contents. As his eyes passed hastily over 
the words, his countenance changed its look of mili¬ 
tary pride to one of deep chagrin; his lip began to 
quiver; and, suffering the paper to fall from his hand, 
his head dropped upon his chest, like that of a man 
whose hopes are withered at a single blow. Duncan 
caught the letter from the ground, and without apol¬ 
ogy for the liberty he took, he read at a glance its 
cruel import. Their common superior, so far from 
encouraging them to resist, advised a speedy sur¬ 
render, urging in the plainest language, as a reason, 
the utter impossibility of his sending a single man 
to their rescue. 

“Here is no deception!” exclaimed Duncan, examin¬ 
ing the billet both inside and out. “This is the sig¬ 
nature of Webb, and must be the captured letter.” 

“The man has betrayed me!” Munro at length bit¬ 
terly exclaimed. “He has brought dishonor to the 
door of one where disgrace was never before known 
to dwell, and shame has he heaped heavily on my 
gray hairs.” 

“Say not so,” cried Duncan. “We are yet masters 
of the fort and of our honor. Let us then sell our 
lives at such a rate as shall make our enemies be¬ 
lieve the purchase too dear.” 

“Boy, I thank thee,” exclaimed the old man, rousing 
himself from his stupor. “You have, for once, re¬ 
minded Munro of his duty. We will go back, and dig 
our graves behind those ramparts.” 

“Messieurs,” said Montcalm, advancing towards 
them a step, in his generous interest, “you little know 
Louis de St. Veran, if you believe him capable of 


The Last op the Mohicans 


237 


profiting by this letter, to humble brave men, or to 
build up a dishonest reputation for himself. Listen 
to my terms before you leave me.” 

“What says the Frenchman?” demanded the vet¬ 
eran. sternly. “Does he make a merit of having cap¬ 
tured a scout, with a note from headquarters? Sir, 
he had better raise this siege, and go to sit down 
before Edward, if he wishes to frighten his enemy 
with words!” 

Duncan explained the other’s meaning. 

“Monsieur de Montcalm, we will near you,” the 
veteran added, more calmly, as Duncan ended. 

“To retain the fort is now impossible,” said his 
liberal enemy. “It is necessary to the interest of 
my master that it should be destroyed; but, as for 
yourselves, and your brave comrades, there is no 
privilege dear to a soldier that shall be denied.” 

“Our colors?” demanded Heyward. 

“Carry them to England, and show them to your 
king.” 

“Our arms?” 

“Keep them; none can use them better!” 

“Our march; the surrender of the place?” 

“Shall all be done in a way most honorable to your¬ 
selves.” 

Duncan now turned to explain these proposals to 
his commander, who heard him with amazement, and 
a sensibility that was deeply touched by such unusual 
and unexpected generosity. 

“Go you, Duncan,” he said, “go with this marquess, 
as indeed marquess he should be; go to his marquee, 
and arrange it all. I have lived to see two things in 
my old age that never did I expect to behold; an 
Englishman afraid to support a friend, and a French¬ 
man too honest to profit by his advantage!” 

So saying, the veteran again dropped his head to 
his chest, and returned slowly towards the fort, ex- 


238 


The Last oe the Mohican 


hibiting by the dejection of his air, to the anxious 
garrison, a harbinger of evil tidings. 

From the shock of this unexpected blow the haughty 
feelings of Munro never recovered; but from that 
moment there commenced a change in his determined 
character, which accompanied him to a speedy grave . 15 
Duncan remained to settle the terms of the capitula¬ 
tion. He was seen to re-enter the works during the 
first watches of the night, and immediately after a 
private conference with the commandant, to leave 
them again. It was then openly announced that 
hostilities must cease—Munro having signed a treaty, 
by which the place was to be yielded to the enemy, 
with the morning; the garrison to retain their arms, 
their colors, and their baggage, and consequently, 
according to military opinion, their honor. 


18 The first sentence in the last paragraph did not ap¬ 
pear in the first edition. 



CHAPTER XVII 


“Weave we the woof. The thread is spun. 

The web is wove. The work is done.” 

—Gray, The Bard. 

The hostile armies, which lay in the wilds of the 
Horican, passed the night of the ninth of August, 
1757, much in the manner they would 1 had they en¬ 
countered on the fairest field of Europe. While the 
conquered were still, sullen, and dejected, the victors 
triumphed. But there are limits alike to grief and 
joy; and long before the watches of the morning came, 
the stillness of those boundless woods was only broken 
by a gay call from some exulting young Frenchman 
of the advanced pickets, or a menacing challenge 
from the fort, which sternly forbade the approach 
of any hostile footsteps before the stipulated moment. 
Even these occasional threatening sounds ceased to 
be heard in that dull hour which precedes the day, at 
which period a listener might have sought in vain any 
evidence of the presence of those armed powers that 
then slumbered on the shores of the “holy lake.” 

It was during these moments of deep silence that 
the canvas which concealed the entrance to a spacious 
marquee in the French encampment was shoved aside, 
and a man issued from beneath the drapery into the 
open air. He was enveloped in a cloak that might 
have been intended as a protection from the chilling 
damps of the woods, but which served equally well as 
a mantle to conceal his person. He was permitted to 
pass the grenadier, who watched over the slumbers 
of the French commander, without interruption, the 
man making the usual salute, which betokens military 
deference, as the other passed swiftly through the 
little city of tents, in the direction of William Henry. 

J In the first edition “that would have prevailed,” etc. 

[ 239 ] 



240 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Whenever this unknown individual encountered one 
of the numberless sentinels, who crossed his path, his 
answer was prompt, and as it appeared, satisfactory; 
for he was uniformly allowed to proceed, without 
further interrogation. 

With the exception of such repeated, but brief in¬ 
terruptions, he had moved silently from the center of 
the camp to its most advanced outposts, when he 
drew nigh the soldier who held his watch nearest to 
the works of the enemy. As he approached, he was 
received with the usual challenge. 

“Qui vive?” 2 

“France”—was the reply. 

“Le mot d’ordre?” 

“La victoire,” said the other, drawing so nigh as 
to be heard in a loud whisper. 

“C’est bien,” returned the sentinel, throwing his 
musket from the charge to his shoulder. “Vous vous 
promenez bien matin, Monsieur!” 

“II est necessaire d’etre vigilant, mon enfant,” the 
other observed, dropping a fold of his cloak, and look¬ 
ing the soldier close in the face, as he passed him, 
still continuing his way towards the British fortifica¬ 
tion. The man started; his arms rattled heavily as 
he threw them forward, in the lowest and most re¬ 
spectful salute; and when he had again recovered his 
piece he turned to walk his post, muttering between 
his teeth. 

“II faut etre vigilant, en verite! je crois que nous 
avons la, un caporal qui ne dort jamais!” 

The officer proceeded, without affecting to hear the 
words which escaped the sentinel in his surprise; 

2 “Who goes there?’’ The later sentences mean, “The 
countersign.” “Victory.” “Very well. You are out early, 
sir.” “One must be watchful, my boy.” “We must be 
watchful, indeed. I believe that we have there a corporal 
who never sleeps.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


241 


nor did he again pause until he had reached the low 
strand, and in a somewhat dangerous vicinity to the 
western water bastion of the fort. The light of an 
obscured moon was just sufficient to render objects, 
though dim, perceptible in their outlines. He, there¬ 
fore, took the precaution to place himself against 
the trunk of a tree, where he leaned for many min¬ 
utes, and seemed to contemplate the dark and silent 
mounds of the English works in profound attention. 
His gaze at the ramparts was not that of a curious 
or idle spectator; but his looks wandered from point 
to point, denoting his knowledge of military usages, 
and betraying that his search was not unaccompanied 
by distrust. At length he appeared satisfied; and 
having cast his eyes impatiently upward toward the 
summit of the eastern mountain, as if anticipating 
the approach of the morning, he was in the act of 
turning on his footsteps, when a light sound on the 
nearest angle of the bastion caught his ear, and in¬ 
duced him to remain. 

Just then a figure was seen to approach the edge 
of the rampart, where it stood, apparently contem¬ 
plating in its turn the distant tents of the French 
encampment. Its head was then turned towards the 
east, as though equally anxious for the appearance 
of light, when the form leaned against the mound, 
and seemed to gaze upon the glassy expanse of the 
waters, which, like a submarine firmament, glittered 
with its thousand mimic stars. The melancholy air. 
the hour, together with the vast frame of the man 
who thus leaned in musing against the English ram¬ 
parts, left no doubt as to his person, in the mind of 
his observant spectator. Delicacy, no less than pru¬ 
dence, now urged him to retire; and he had moved 
cautiously round the body of the tree for that pur¬ 
pose, when another sound drew his attention, and 
once more arrested his footsteps. It was a low and 


242 


The Last of the Mohicans 


almost inaudible movement of the water, and was 
succeeded by a grating of pebbles one against the 
other. In a moment he saw a dark form rise, as it 
were out of the lake, and steal without further noise 
to the land, within a few feet of the place where he 
himself stood. A rifle next slowly rose between his 
eyes and the watery mirror; but before it could be 
discharged his own hand was on the lock. 

“Hugh!” exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous 
aim was so singularly and so unexpectedly inter¬ 
rupted. 

Without making any reply, the French officer laid 
his hand on the shoulder of the Indian, and led him 
in profound silence to a distance from the spot, where 
their subsequent dialogue might have proved danger¬ 
ous, and where it seemed that one of them, at least, 
sought a victim. Then, throwing open his cloak, so 
as to expose his uniform and the cross of St. Louis 3 
which was suspended at his breast, Montcalm sternly 
demanded,— 

“What means this! Does not my son know that 
the hatchet is buried between the English and his 
Canadian Father?” 

“What can the Hurons do?” returned the savage, 
speaking also, though imperfectly, in the French lan¬ 
guage. “Not a warrior has a scalp, and the pale¬ 
faces make friends!” 

“Ha! Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an ex¬ 
cess of zeal for a friend, who was so late an enemy! 
How many suns have set since Le Renard struck the 
war-post of the English!” 

“Where is that sun?” demanded the sullen savage. 
“Behind the hill; and it is dark and cold. But when 
he comes again it will be bright and warm. Le Subtil 
is the sun of his tribe. There have been clouds and 


3 See XVI, note 3. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


243 


many mountains between him and his nation; but 
now he shines, and it is a clear sky!” 

“That Le Renard has power with his people, I well 
know,” said Montcalm, “for yesterday he hunted for 
their scalps, and today they hear him at the council- 
fire !” 

“Magua is a great chief!” 

“Let him prove it by teaching his nation how to 
conduct itself towards our new friends!” 

“Why did the chief of the Canadas bring his young 
men into the woods, and fire his cannon at yonder 
earthen house?” demanded the subtle Indian. 

“To subdue it. My master owns the land, and your 
father was ordered to drive off these English squat¬ 
ters. They have consented to go, and now he calls 
them enemies no longer.” 

“ ’Tis well. Magua took the hatchet to color it 
with blood. It is now bright; when it is red, it shall 
be buried.” 

“But Magua is pledged not to sully the lilies of 
France . 4 The enemies of the great king across the 
salt lake are his enemies; his friends the friends of 
the Hurons.” 

“Friends!” repeated the Indian, in bitter scorn. 
“Let his father give Magua a hand.” 

Montcalm, who felt that his influence over the war¬ 
like tribes he had gathered was to be maintained by 
concession, rather than by power, complied, reluc¬ 
tantly, with the other’s request. The savage placed 
the finger of the French commander on a deep scar 
in his bosom, and then exultingly demanded— 

“Does my father know that?” 

“What warrior does not? ’Tis where the leaden 
bullet has cut.” 

“And this!” continued the Indian, who had turned 


4 The fleur de lis, the national flower of France. 



244 


The Last of the Mohicans 


his naked back to the other, his body being without 
its usual calico mantle. 

“This!—my son has been sadly injured, here. Who 
has done this?” 

“Magua slept hard in the English wigwams, and 
the sticks have left their mark,” returned the savage, 
with a hollow laugh, which did not 5 conceal the fierce 
temper that nearly choked him. Then recollecting 
himself, with sudden and native dignity, he added, 
“Go. Teach your young men, it is peace. Le Renard 
Subtil knows how to speak to a Huron warrior.” 

Without deigning to bestow further words, or to 
wait for any answer, the savage cast his rifle into 
the hollow of his arm, and moved silently through 
the encampment towards the woods where his own 
tribe was known to lie. Every few yards as he pro¬ 
ceeded he was challenged by the sentinels; but he 
stalked sullenly onward, utterly disregarding the sum¬ 
mons of the soldiers, who only spared his life because 
they knew the air and tread no less than the obsti¬ 
nate daring of an Indian. 

Montcalm lingered long and melancholy on the 
strand, where he had been left by his companion, 
brooding deeply on the temper which his ungovern¬ 
able ally had just discovered. Already had his fair 
fame been tarnished by one horrid scene, and in 
circumstances fearfully resembling those under which 
he now found himself. As he mused he became 
keenly sensible of the deep responsibility they assume, 
who disregard the means to attain their end, and 
of all the danger of setting in motion an engine 
which it exceeds human power to control. Then 
shaking off a train of reflections that he accounted 
a weakness in such a moment of triumph, he re¬ 
traced his steps towards his tent, giving the order 


Tn the first edition was added “nor could not.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


245 


as the signal that should arouse the army from its 
slumbers. 

The first tap of the French drums was echoed from 
the bosom of the fort, and presently the valley was 
filled with the strains of.martial music, rising long, 
thrilling, and lively above the rattling accompani¬ 
ment. The horns of the victors sounded merry and 
cheerful flourishes, until the last laggard of the camp 
was at his post, but the instant the British fifes had 
blown their shrill signal, they became mute. In the 
meantime the day had dawned, and when the line of 
the French army was ready to receive its general, 
the rays of a brilliant sun were glancing along its 
glittering array. Then, that success which was al¬ 
ready so well known, was officially announced; the 
favored band, who were selected to guard the gates 
of the fort, were detailed, and defiled before their 
chief; the signal of their approach was given, and 
all the usual preparations for a change of masters 
were ordered and executed directly under the guns 
of the contested works. 

A very different scene presented itself within the 
lines of the Anglo-American army. As soon as the 
warning signal was given, it exhibited all the signs 
of a hurried and forced departure. The sullen sol¬ 
diers shouldered their empty tubes, and fell into their 
places, like men whose blood had been heated by the 
past contest, and who only desired the opportunity 
to revenge an indignity, which was still wounding to 
their pride, concealed, as it was, under all the observ¬ 
ances of military etiquette. Women and children ran 
from place to place, some bearing the scanty rem¬ 
nants of their baggage, and others searching, in the 
ranks, for those countenances they looked up to for 
protection. 

Munro appeared among his silent troops, firm, but 
dejected. It was evident that the unexpected blow had 


246 


The Last of the Mohicans 


struck deep into his heart, though he struggled to 
sustain his misfortune with the port of a man. 

Duncan was touched at the quiet and impressive 
exhibition of his grief. He had discharged his own 
duty, and he now pressed to the side of the old man, 
to know in what particular he might serve him. 

“My daughters,” was the brief, but expressive re¬ 
ply. 

“Good heavens! Are not arrangements already 
made for their convenience?” 

“Today I am only a soldier, Major Heyward,” said 
the veteran. “All that you see here claim alike to be 
my children.” 

Duncan had heard enough. Without losing one of 
those moments which had now become so precious, he 
flew towards the quarters of Munro, in quest of the 
sisters. He found them on the threshold of the low 
edifice, already prepared to depart, and surrounded 
by a clamorous and weeping assemblage of their own 
sex, that had gathered about the place, with a sort 
of instinctive consciousness that it was the point most 
likely to be protected. Though the cheeks of Cora 
were pale, and her countenance anxious, she had lost 
none of her firmness; but the eyes of Alice were in¬ 
flamed, and betrayed how long and bitterly she had 
wept. They both, however, received the young man 
with undisguised pleasure; the former, for a novelty, 
being the first to speak. 

“The fort is lost,” she said, with a melancholy 
smile, “though our good name, I trust, remains.” 

“ ’Tis brighter than ever. But, dearest Miss Munro, 
it is time to think less of others, and to make some 
provision for yourself. Military usage—pride—that 
pride on which you so much value yourself, demands 
that your father and I should for a little while con¬ 
tinue with the troops. Then where to seek a proper 


The Last of the Mohicans 


247 


protector for you against the confusion and chances 
of such a scene?” 

“None is necessary,” returned Cora. “Who will 
dare to injure or insult the daughter of such a father, 
at a time like this?” 

“I would not leave you alone,” continued the youth, 
looking about him in a hurried manner, “for the com¬ 
mand of the best regiment in the pay of the king. 
Remember, our Alice is not gifted with all your firm¬ 
ness, and God only knows the terror she might en¬ 
dure.” 

“You may be right,” Cora replied, smiling, but far 
more sadly than before. “Listen! chance has already 
sent us a friend when he is most needed.” 

Duncan did listen, and on the instant comprehended 
her meaning. The low and serious sounds of the 
sacred music, so well known to the eastern provinces, 
caught his ear, and instantly drew him to an apart¬ 
ment in an adjacent building, which had already been 
deserted by its customary tenants. There he found 
David, pouring out his pious feelings, through the 
only medium in which he ever indulged. Duncan 
waited, until, by the cessation of the movement of the 
hand, he believed the strain was ended, when, by 
touching his shoulder, he drew the attention of the 
other to himself, and in a few words explained his 
wishes. 

“Even so,” replied the single-minded disciple of the 
King of Israel, when the young man had ended. “I 
have found much that is comely and melodious in the 
maidens, and it is fitting that we who have consorted 
in so much peril, should abide together in peace. I 
will attend them, when I have completed my morn¬ 
ing praise, to which nothing is now wanting but the 
doxology. Wilt thou bear a part, friend? The meter 
is common, and the tune, ‘Southwell/ ” 6 

*See II, note 17. 



248 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Then, extending the little volume, and giving the 
pitch of the air anew with considerate attention, 
David recommenced and finished his strains, with a 
fixedness of manner that it was not easy to interrupt. 

, Heyward was fain to wait until the verse was ended; 
when, seeing David relieving himself from the spec¬ 
tacles, and replacing the book, he continued— 

“It will be your duty to see that none dare to ap¬ 
proach the ladies with any rude intention, or to of¬ 
fer insult or taunt at the misfortune of their brave 
father. In this task you will be seconded by the do¬ 
mestics of their household.” 

“Even so.” 

“It is possible that the Indians and stragglers of 
the enemy may intrude, in which case you will remind 
them of the terms of the capitulation, and threaten 
to report their conduct to Montcalm. A word will 
suffice.” 

“If not, I have that here which shall,” returned 
David, exhibiting his book, with an air in which meek¬ 
ness and confidence were singularly blended. “Here 
are words which, uttered, or rather thundered, with 
proper emphasis, and in measured time, shall quiet the 
most unruly temper. 

“ ‘Why rage the heathen furiously!’ ”— 

“Enough,” said Heyward, interrupting the burst of 
his musical invocation. “We understand each other; 
it is time that we should now assume our respective 
duties.” 

Gamut cheerfully assented, and together they im¬ 
mediately sought the maidens. Cora received her 
new, and somewhat extraordinary protector, courte¬ 
ously at least; and even the pallid features of Alice 
lighted aerain with some of their native archness, as 
she thanked Heyward for his care. Duncan took oc¬ 
casion to assure them he had done the best that cir¬ 
cumstances permitted, and, as he believed, quite 


The Last of the Mohicans 


249 


enough for the security of their feelings; of danger 
there was none. He then spoke gladly of his intention 
to rejoin them the moment he had led the advance a 
few miles toward the Hudson, and immediately took 
his leave. 

By this time the signal of departure had been giv¬ 
en, and the head of the English column was in mo¬ 
tion. The sisters started at the sound, and glancing 
their eyes around, they saw the white uniforms of 
the French grenadiers, who had already taken posses¬ 
sion of the gates of the fort. At that moment an 
enormous cloud seemed to pass suddenly above their 
heads, and looking upward, they discovered that they 
stood beneath the wide folds of the spotless standard 
of France. 

“Let us go,” said Cora. “This is no longer a fit 
place for the children of an English officer!” 

Alice clung to the arm of her sister, and together 
they left the parade, accompanied by the moving 
throng that still surrounded them. 

As they passed the gates, the French officers, who 
had learned their rank, bowed often and low, forbear¬ 
ing, however, to intrude those attentions, which they 
saw, with peculiar tact, might not be agreeable. As 
every vehicle, and each beast of burden, was occupied 
by the sick and wounded, Cora had decided to en¬ 
dure the fatigues of a foot march, rather than inter¬ 
fere with their comforts. Indeed, many a maimed 
and feeble soldier was compelled to drag his exhausted 
limbs in the rear of the columns, for the want of the 
necessary means of conveyance, in that wilderness. 
The whole, however, was in motion; the weak and 
wounded, groaning, and in suffering; their comrades, 
silent and sullen; and the women and children in ter¬ 
ror, they knew not of what. 

As the confused and timid throng left the protect¬ 
ing mounds of the fort, and issued on the open plain, 


250 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the whole scene was at once presented to their eyes. 
At a little distance on the right, and somewhat in the 
rear, the French army stood to their arms, Mont¬ 
calm having collected his parties, so soon as his guards 
had possession of the works. They were attentive 
but silent observers of the proceedings of the van¬ 
quished, failing in none of the stipulated military 
honors, and offering no taunt or insult, in their suc¬ 
cess, to their less fortunate foes. Living masses of 
the English, to the amount in the whole of near three 
thousand, were moving slowly across the plain, to¬ 
wards the common center, and gradually approached 
each other, as they converged to the point of their 
march, a vista cut through the lofty trees, where the 
road to the Hudson entered the forest. Along the 
sweeping borders of the woods, hung a dark cloud 
of savages, eying the passage of their enemies, and 
hovering, at a distance, like vultures, who 7 were only 
kept from swooping on their prey, by the presence and 
restraint of a superior army. A few had straggled 
among the conquered columns, where they stalked in 
sullen discontent; attentive, though, as yet, passive 
observers of the moving multitude. 

The advance, with Heyward at its head, had al¬ 
ready reached the defile, and was slowly disappear¬ 
ing, when the attention of Cora was drawn to a col¬ 
lection of stragglers, by the sounds of contention. A 
truant provincial was paying the forfeit of his dis¬ 
obedience by being plundered of those very effects 
which had caused him to desert his place in the ranks. 
The man was of powerful frame, and too avaricious 
to part with his goods without a struggle. Individu¬ 
als from either party interfered; the one side to pre¬ 
vent, and the other to aid in the robbery. Voices 
grew loud and angry, and a hundred savages ap- 

7 Better usage would require “that” or “which” instead 
of “who.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


251 


peared, as it were by magic, where a dozen only had 
been seen a few minutes before. It was then that 
Cora saw the form of Magua, gliding among his 
countrymen, and speaking with his fatal and artful 
eloquence. The mass of women and children stopped, 
and hovered together, like alarmed and fluttering 
birds. But the cupidity of the Indian was soon grat¬ 
ified, and the different bodies again moved slowly on¬ 
ward. 

The savages now fell back, and seemed content to 
let their enemies advance without further molesta¬ 
tion. But as the female crowd approached them, the 
gaudy colors of a shawl attracted the eyes of a wild 
and untutored Huron. He advanced to seize it, with¬ 
out the least hesitation. The woman, more in terror 
than through love of the ornament, wrapped her 
child in the coveted article, and folded both more 
closely to her bosom. Cora was in the act of speak¬ 
ing, with an intent to advise the woman to abandon 
the trifle, when the savage relinquished his hold of 
the shawl and tore the screaming infant from her 
arms. Abandoning everything to the greedy grasp 
of those around her, the mother darted with distrac¬ 
tion in her mien, to reclaim her child. The Indian 
smiled grimly, and extended one hand, in sign of 
willingness to exchange, while with the other he flour¬ 
ished the babe above his head, holding it by the feet, 
as if to enhance the value of the ransom. 

“Here—here—there—all — any — everything!” ex¬ 
claimed the breathless woman; tearing the lighter 
articles of dress from her person, with ill-directed 
and trembling fingers—“take all, but give me my 
babe!” 

The savage spurned the worthless rags, and perceiv¬ 
ing that the shawl had already become a prize to an¬ 
other, his bantering, but sullen smile, changing to a 
gleam of ferocity, he dashed the head of the infant 


252 


The Last of the Mohicans 


against a rock, and cast its quivering remains to her 
very feet. For an instant the mother stood, like a 
statue of despair, looking wildly down at the unseem¬ 
ly object, which had so lately nestled in her bosom 
and smiled in her face;'and then she raised her eyes 
and countenance towards heaven, as if calling on 
God to curse the perpetrator of the foul deed. She 
was spared the sin of such a prayer; for, maddened 
at his disappointment, and excited at the sight of 
blood, the Huron mercifully drove his tomahawk into 
her own brain. The mother sank under the blow, and 
fell, grasping at her child, in death, with the same 
engrossing love that had caused her to cherish it 
when living. 

At that dangerous moment Magua placed his hands 
to his mouth, and raised the fatal and appalling whoop. 
The scattered Indians started at the well-known cry, 
as coursers bound at the signal to quit the goal; and, 
directly, there arose such a yell along the plain, and 
through the arches of the wood, as seldom burst from 
human lips before. They who heard it listened with 
a curdling horror at the heart, little inferior to that 
dread which may be expected to attend the blasts of 
the final summons. 

More than two thousand raving savages broke from 
the forest at the signal, and threw themselves across 
the fatal plain with instinctive alacrity. We shall not 
dwell on the revolting horrors that succeeded . 8 Death 

"Cooper had read the Travels of Jonathan Carver, who 
was present at the massacre, he says, and escaped with 
difficulty. Cdoper’s account is a fair one if Carver's nar¬ 
rative is accepted as true. But it is probably much ex¬ 
aggerated. It seems well established, by evidence late 
coming to light, that the conduct of Montcalm and the 
French was not as pictured by Cooper. Father Roubaud, 
a Jesuit missionary present at the scene, reports the num¬ 
ber killed as no more than fifty. Montcalm is to be ex- 



The Last of the Mohicans 


253 


\v::s everywhere, and in his most terrific and disgust¬ 
ing aspects. Resistance only served to inflame the 
murderers, who inflicted their furious blows long after 
their victims were beyond the power of their resent¬ 
ment. The flow of blood might be likened to the out¬ 
breaking of a torrent ; 9 and, as the natives became 
heated and maddened by the sight, many among them 
even kneeled to the earth, and drank freely, exulting- 
ly, hellishly, of the crimson tide. 

The trained bodies of the troops threw themselves 
quickly into solid masses, endeavoring to awe their 
assailants by the imposing appearance of a military 
front. The experiment in some measure succeeded, 
though far too many suffered their unloaded muskets 
to be torn from their hands, in the vain hope of ap¬ 
peasing the savages. 

In such a scene, none had leisure to note the fleet¬ 
ing moments. It might have been ten minutes (it 
seemed an age) that the sisters had stood riveted to 
one spot, horror-stricken, and nearly helpless. When 
the first blow was struck, their screaming companions 
had pressed upon them in a body, rendering flight im¬ 
possible; and now that fear or death had scattered 
most, if not all, from around them, they saw no ave¬ 
nue open, but such as conducted to the tomahawks of 
their foes. On every side arose shrieks, groans, ex¬ 
hortations, and curses. At this moment, Alice caught 
a glimpse of the vast form of her father, moving rap¬ 
onerated from the role he plays in Cooper’s chapter. The 
Indians became intoxicated and broke their pledge not 
to molest the English. The French officers took great risks 
to protect their prisoners and afterward ransomed many 
that the Indians had taken captive. See Appendix. 

Montcalm’s troops numbered about 6,000. The Indians 
numbered about 1000. Munro surrendered about 2100. 
General Webb had about 4000 troops at Fort Edward. 

8 The first edition had “gushing torrent.” 



254 


The Last of the Mohicans 


icily across the plain, in the direction of the French 
army. He was in truth proceeding to Montcalm, fear¬ 
less of every danger, to claim the tardy escort, for 
which he had before conditioned. Fifty glittering 
axes and barbed spears were offered unheeded at his 
life, but the savages respected his rank and calm¬ 
ness, even in their greatest fury. The dangerous 
weapons were brushed aside by the still nervous arm 
of the veteran, or fell of themselves, after menacing 
an act that it would seem no one had courage to per¬ 
form. Fortunately the vindictive Magua was search¬ 
ing for his victim in the very band the veteran had 
just quitted. 

“Father—father—we are here!’' shrieked Alice, as 
he passed at no great distance, without appearing to 
heed them. “Come to us, father, or we die!” 

The cry was repeated, and in terms and tones that 
might have melted a heart of stone, but it was un¬ 
answered. Once, indeed, the old man appeared to 
catch the sounds, for he paused and listened; but Alice 
had dropped senseless on the earth, and Cora had 
sunk at her side, hovering, in untiring tenderness, 
over her lifeless form. Munro shook his head in dis¬ 
appointment, and proceeded, bent on the high duty of 
his responsible station. 

“Lady,” said Gamut, who, helpless and useless as he 
was, had not yet dreamed of deserting his trust, “it 
is the jubilee of the devils, and this is not a meet 
place for Christians to tarry in. Let us up and fly.” 

“Go,” said Cora, still gazing at her unconscious sis¬ 
ter. “Save thyself. To me thou canst not be of fur¬ 
ther use.” 

David comprehended the unyielding character of 
her resolution, by the simple but expressive gesture 
that accompanied her words. He gazed, for a moment, 
at the dusky forms that were acting their hellish rites 
on every side of him, and his tall person grew more 


The Last of the Mohicans 


255 


erect, while his chest heaved, and every feature 
swelled, and seemed to speak with the power of the 
feelings by which he was governed. 

“If the Jewish boy might tame the evil spirit of 
Saul by sound of his harp, and the words of sacred 
song, it may not be amiss/' he said, “to try the potency 
of music here.” 

Then raising his voice to its highest tones, he 
poured out a strain so powerful as to be heard even 
amid the din of that bloody field. More than one sav¬ 
age rushed towards them, thinking to rifle the un¬ 
protected sisters of their attire, and bear away their 
scalps; but when they found this strange and un¬ 
moved figure riveted to his post, they paused to lis¬ 
ten. Astonishment soon changed to admiration, and 
they passed on to other and less courageous victims, 
openly expressing their satisfaction at the firmness 
with which the white warrior sang his death song. 
Encouraged and deluded by his success, David ex¬ 
erted all his powers to extend what he believed so 
holy an influence. The unwonted sounds caught the 
ears of a distant savage, who flew raging from group 
to group, like one who, scorning to touch the vulgar 
herd, hunted for some victim more worthy of his 
renown. It was Magua, who uttered a yell of pleasure 
when he beheld his ancient prisoners again at his 
mercy. 

“Come,” he said, laying his soiled hands on the 
dress of Cora, “the wigwam of the Huron is still 
open . 10 Is it not better than this place?” 

“Away!” cried Cora, veiling her eyes from his re¬ 
volting aspect. 

The Indian laughed tauntingly, as he held up his 
reeking hand, and answered, “It is red, but it comes 
from white veins!” 


]0 In the first edition “is open.” 



256 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Monster! there is blood, oceans of blood, upon thy 
soul; thy spirit has moved this scene.” 

“Magua is a great chief!” returned the exulting 
savage. “Will the dark-hair go to his tribe?” 

“Never! strike if thou wilt, and complete thy re¬ 
venge.” 

He hesitated a moment, and then catching the light 
and senseless form of Alice in his arms, the subtle 
Indian moved swiftly across the plain toward the 
woods. 

“Hold!” shrieked Cora, following wildly on his foot¬ 
steps. “Release the child! wretch! what is’t you do?” 

But Magua was deaf to her voice; or, rather, he 
knew his power, and was determined to maintain it. 

“Stay—lady—stay,” called Gamut, after the uncon¬ 
scious Cora. “The holy charm is beginning to be 
felt, and soon shalt thou see this horrid tumult 
stilled.” 

Perceiving that, in his turn, he was unheeded, the 
faithful David followed the distracted sister, raising 
his voice again in sacred song, and sweeping the air 
to the measure, with his long arm, in diligent accom¬ 
paniment. In this manner they traversed the plain, 
through the flying, the wounded, and the dead. The 
fierce Huron was, at any time, sufficient for himself 
and the victim that he bore; though Cora would have 
fallen more than once under the blows of her savage 
enemies, but for the extraordinary being who stalked 
in her rear, and who now appeared to the astonished 
natives gifted with the protecting spirit of madness. 

Magua, who knew how to avoid the more pressing 
dangers, and also to elude pursuit, entered the woods 
through a low ravine, where he quickly found the Nar- 
ragansetts, which the travelers had abandoned so 
shortly before, awaiting his appearance, in custody 
of a savage as fierce and as malign in his expression 


The Last of the Mohicans 


257 


as himself. Laying Alice on one of the horses, he 
made a sign to Cora to mount the other. 

Notwithstanding the horror excited by the presence 
of her captor, there was a present relief in escaping 
from the bloody scene enacting on the plain, to which 
Cora could not be altogether insensible. She took 
her seat, and held forth her arms for her sister, with 
an air of entreaty and love that even the Huron could 
not deny. Placing Alice, then, on the same animal 
with Cora, he seized the bridle, and commenced his 
route by plunging deeper into the forest. David, per¬ 
ceiving that he was left alone, utterly disregarded, 
as a subject too worthless even to destroy, threw his 
long limb across the saddle of the beast they had de¬ 
serted, and made such progress in the pursuit as the 
difficulties of the path permitted. 

They soon began to ascend, but as the motion had a 
tendency to revive the dormant faculties of her sis¬ 
ter, the attention of Cora was too much divided be¬ 
tween the tenderest solicitude in her behalf, and in 
listening to the cries which were still too audible on 
the plain, to note the direction in which they jour¬ 
neyed. When, however, they gained the flattened sur¬ 
face of the mountain-top, and approached the eastern 
precipice, she recognized the spot to which she had 
once before been led under the more friendly auspices 
of the scout. Here Magua suffered them to dismount; 
and, notwithstanding their own captivity, the cur¬ 
iosity which seems inseparable from horror, induced 
them to gaze at the sickening sight below. 

The cruel work was still unchecked. On every side 
the captured were flying before their relentless per¬ 
secutors, while the armed columns of the Christian 
king stood fast in an apathy which has never been 
explained, and which has left an unmovable blot on 
the otherwise fair escutcheon of their leader. Nor 
was the sword of death stayed until cupidity got the 


258 


The Last of the Mohicans 


mastery of revenge. Then, indeed, the shrieks of 
the wounded and the yells of their murderers grew less 
frequent, until, finally, the cries of horror were lost 
to their ear, or were drowned in the loud, long, and 
piercing whoops of the triumphant savages . 11 


“Cooper’s note concerning the massacre reads, “The ac¬ 
counts of the number of men who fell in this unhappy af¬ 
fair vary be'tween five and fifteen hundred.” 

The first volume ended at the close of the seventeenth 
chapter (page 282), in the first edition. 



CHAPTER XVIII 


“Why, anything: 

An honorable murderer, if you will; 

For nought I did in hate, but all in honor.” 

—Shakespeare, Othello, V, ii. 

The bloody and inhuman scene which we have rather 
incidentally mentioned than described, in the close of 
the preceding chapter, is conspicuous in the pages of 
colonial history by the merited title of “The Massar 
ere of William Henry.” It so far deepened the stain 
which a previous and very similar event had left upon 
the reputation of the French commander, that it was 
not entirely erased by his early and glorious death. 
It is now becoming obscured by time; and thousands 
.who know that Montcalm died like a hero on the 
plains of Abraham, have yet to learn how much he 
was deficient in that moral courage without which no 
man can be truly great. Pages might be written to 
prove, from this illustrious example, the defects of 
human excellence; to show how easy it is for gener¬ 
ous sentiments, high courtesy, and chivalrous cour¬ 
age, to lose their influence beneath the chilling ascen¬ 
dancy of mistaken selfishness, and to exhibit to the 
world a man who was great in all the minor attributes 
of character, but who was found wanting, when it 
became necessary to prove how much principle is su¬ 
perior to policy. But the task would exceed our fanci¬ 
ful prerogatives; and, as history, like love, is so apt 
to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imag¬ 
inary brightness, it is probable that Louis de Saint 
Veran will be viewed by posterity only as the gallant 
defender of his country, while his cruel apathy on 
the shores of the Oswego and of the Horican will be 
forgotten. Deeply regretting this weakness on the 
part of our sister muse, we shall at once retire from 
[ 259 ] 


260 


The Last of the Mohicans 


her sacred precincts, within the proper limits of our 
own humbler vocation. 

The third day from the capture of the fort was 
drawing to a close, but the business of the narrative 
must still detain the reader on the shores of the 
“holy lake.” While last seen, the environs of the 
works were filled with violence and uproar. They 
were now emphatically possessed by stillness and 
death. The blood-stained conquerors had departed; 
and their camp, which had so lately rung with the 
merry rejoicings of a victorious army, lay a silent 
and deserted city of huts. The fortress was a smold¬ 
ering ruin; charred rafters, fragments of exploded 
artillery, and rent mason-work, covering its earthen 
mounds in confused disorder . 1 

A frightful change had also occurred in the season. 

The sun had hid its warmth behind an impenetrable 
mass of vapor, and hundreds of human forms, which 
had blackened beneath the fierce heats of August, were 
stiffening in their deformity, before the blasts of a 
premature November. The curling and spotless mists, 
which had been seen sailing above the hills towards 
the north, were now returning in an interminable 
dusky sheet, that was urged along by the fury of a 
tempest. The crowded mirror of the Horican was 
gone; and, in its place, the green and angry waters 
lashed the shores, as if indignantly casting back its 
impurities to the polluted strand. Still the clear 
fountain retained a portion of its charmed influence, 
but it reflected only the somber gloom that fell from 
the impending heavens. The humid and congenial 
atmosphere which commonly adorned 2 the view, veil¬ 
ing its harshness, and softening its asperities, had 
disappeared, and the northern air poured across the 
waste of water so harsh and unmingled, that nothing 

’In the first edition “confused and negligent disorder.” 

s In the first edition “was wont to adorn.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


261 


was left to be conjectured by the eye, or fashioned 
by the fancy. 

The fiercer element had cropped the verdure of the 
plain, which looked as though it were scathed by the 
consuming lightning. But, here and there, a dark 
green tuft rose in the midst of the desolation; the 
earliest fruits of a soil that had been fattened with 
human blood. The whole landscape, which, seen by a 
favoring light, and in a genial temperature, had been 
found so lovely, appeared now like some pictured al¬ 
legory of life, in which the objects were arrayed in 
their harshest but truest colors, and without the re¬ 
lief of any shadowing. 

The solitary and arid blades of grass arose from the 
passing gusts fearfully perceptible; the bold and rocky 
mountains were too distinct in their barrenness, and 
the eye even sought relief in vain by attempting to 
pierce the illimitable void of heaven, which was shut 
to its gaze by the dusky sheet of ragged and driving 
vapor. 

The wind blew unequally, sometimes sweeping heav¬ 
ily along the ground, seeming to whisper its moan- 
ings in the cold ears of the dead, then, rising in a 
shrill and mournful whistling, it entered the forest 
with a rush that filled the air with the leaves and 
branches it scattered in its path. Amid the unnatur¬ 
al shower, a few hungry ravens struggled with the 
gale; but no sooner was the green ocean of woods 
which stretched beneath them passed, than they glad¬ 
ly stooped 3 at random to that hideous haven where 
their revolting food so freely abounded. 

3 In the first edition “stopped.” It is now customary 
to read “stooped.” “Stopped” is a possible reading and it 
was uncorrected by Cooper, but it seems likely that 
“stoop” was what he meant. He writes “fishhawks 
stooped” in chapter IX and he writes of vultures stooping 
in chapter XVII. 



262 


The Last of the Mohicans 


In short it was a scene of wildness and desolation, 
and it appeared as if all who had profanely entered it 
had been stricken at a blow by the powerful and re¬ 
lentless arm of death. But the prohibition had ceased; 
and for the first time since the perpetrators of those 
foul deeds which had assisted to disfigure the scene 
were gone, living human beings had now presumed to 
approach the dreary place. 

About an hour before the setting of the sun, on the 
day already mentioned, the forms of five men might 
have been seen issuing from the narrow vista of trees, 
where the path to the Hudson entered the forest, and 
advancing in the direction of the ruined works. At 
first their progress was slow and guarded, as though 
they entered with reluctance amid the horrors of the 
spot, or dreaded the renewal of some of its frightful 
incidents. A light figure preceded the rest of the 
party with all the caution and activity of a native, 
ascending every hillock to reconnoiter, and indicating 
by gestures to his companions the route he deemed it 
most prudent they should pursue. Nor were those 
in the rear wanting in every caution and foresight 
known to forest warfare. One among them, he was 
an Indian, moved a little on one flank, and watched 
the margin of the woods, with eyes long accustomed 
to read the smallest sign of danger . 4 The remaining 
three were white, though clad in vestments adapted , 5 
both in quality and color, to their present hazardous 
pursuit—that of hanging on the skirts of a retiring 
army in the wilderness. 

The effects produced by the appalling sights that 
constantly arose in their path to the lake shore, were 
as different as the characters of the respective in¬ 
dividuals who composed the party. The youth in 
front threw serious but furtive glances at the mangled 

4 In the first edition “sign of approaching danger.” 

5 In the first edition “strikingly adapted,” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


263 


victims, as he stepped lightly across the plain, afraid 
to exhibit his feelings , 6 and yet too inexperienced to 
quell entirely their sudden and powerful influence. 
His red associate, however, was superior to such a 
weakness. He passed the groups of dead with a stead¬ 
iness of purpose, and an eye so calm, that nothing 
but long and inveterate practice could enable him to 
maintain. The sensations produced in the minds of 
even the white men were different, though uniform¬ 
ly sorrowful. One, whose gray locks and furrowed 
lineaments, blending with a martial air and tread, 
betrayed, in spite of the disguise of a woodsman’s 
dress, a man long experienced in scenes of war, was 
not ashamed to groan aloud, whenever a spectacle 
of more than usual horror came under his view. The 
young man at his elbow shuddered, but seemed to sup¬ 
press his feelings in tenderness to his companion. Of 
them all, the straggler who brought up the rear ap¬ 
peared alone to betray his real thoughts , 7 without fear 
of observation or dread of consequences. He gazed 
at the most appalling sight with eyes and muscles 
that knew not how to waver, but with execrations 
so bitter and deep as to denote how much he de¬ 
nounced the crime of his enemies. 

The reader will perceive at once, in these respective 
characters, the Mohicans, and their white friend, the 
scout; together with Munro and Heyward. It was, 
in truth, the father in quest of his children, attended 
by the youth who felt so deep a stake in their happi¬ 
ness, and those brave and trusty foresters, who had 
already proved their skill and fidelity through the try¬ 
ing scenes related. 

6 In the first edition “the natural emotions he endured.” 

7 In the first edition this passage read, “to indulge, with¬ 
out fear of observation or dread of consequences, in the 
feeling he experienced But with him, the offence seemed 
rather given to the intellectual than to the physical man.” 



264 


The Last of the Mohicans 


When Uncas, who moved in front, had reached the 
center of the plain, he raised a cry that drew his com¬ 
panions in a body to the spot. The young warrior had 
halted over a group of females, who lay in a cluster, 
a confused mass of dead. Notwithstanding the revolt¬ 
ing horrors of the exhibition, Munro and Heyward 
flew towards the festering heap, endeavoring, with a 
love that no unseemliness could extinguish, to dis¬ 
cover whether any vestiges of those they sought were 
to be seen among the tattered and many colored gar¬ 
ments. The father and the lover found instant re¬ 
lief in the search; though each was condemned again 
to experience the misery of an uncertainty that was 
hardly less insupportable than the most revolting 
truth. They were standing silent and thoughtful 
around the melancholy pile when the scout approached. 
Eyeing the sad spectacle with an angry and flushed 
countenance, the sturdy woodsman, for the first time 
since .entering the plain, spoke intelligibly and aloud— 

“I have been on many a shocking field, and have 
followed a trail of blood for weary miles,” he said, 
“but never have I found the hand of the devil so 
plain as it is here to be seen! Revenge is an Indian 
feeling, and all who know me know that there is no 
cross in my veins; but this much will I say—here, 
in the face of Heaven, and with the power of the 
Lord so manifest in this howling wilderness, that 
should these Frenchers ever trust themselves again 
within the range of a ragged bullet, there is one rifle 
shall play its part, so long as flint will fire or powder 
burn!—I leave the tomahawk and knife to such as 
have a natural gift to use them. What say you, 
Chingachgook?” he added in Delaware. “Shall the 
red Hurons boast of this to their women when the 
deep snows come?” 

A gleam of resentment flashed across the dark linea¬ 
ments of the Mohican chief. He loosened his knife in 


The Last of the Mohicans 


265 


his sheath, and then turning calmly from the sight, 
his countenance settled into a repose as deep as if he 
never knew the influence or instigations of passion. 

“Montcalm! Montcalm!” continued the deeply re¬ 
sentful and less self-restrained scout, “they say a 
time must come when all the deeds done in the flesh 
will be seen at a single look; and that by eyes cleared 
from their mortal infirmities. Woe betide the wretch 
who is born to behold this plain, with the judgment 
hanging about 8 his soul! Ha—as I am a man of white 
blood, yonder lies a red-skin, without the hair of his 
head where nature rooted it! Look to him, Delaware; 
it may be one of your missing people; and he should 
have burial like a stout warrior. I see it in your 
eye, Sagamore: a Huron pays for this, afore the fall 
winds have blown away the scent of the blood!” 

Chingachgook approached the mutilated form, and 
turning it over, he found the distinguishing marks 
of one of those six allied tribes, or nations, as they 
were called, who, while they fought in the English 
ranks, were so deadly hostile to his own people. 
Spurning the loathsome object with his foot, he turned 
from it with the same indifference he would have 
quitted a brute carcass. The scout comprehended the 
action, and very deliberately pursued his own way, 
continuing, however, his denunciations against the 
French commander in the same resentful strain. 

“Nothing but vast wisdom and unlimited power 
should dare to sweep off men in multitudes,” he added, 
“for it is only the one that can know the necessity of 
the judgment; and what is there, short of the other, 
that can replace the creatures of the Lord? I hold 
it a sin 9 to kill the second buck afore the first is eaten, 
unless a march in the front, or an ambushment, be 

8 In the first edition “above.” 

9 The frontiersman’s rule, to kill game only as it was 
needed. Present-day hunters kill for the killing’s sake. 


266 


The Last of the Mohicans 


contemplated. It is a different matter with a few war¬ 
riors in open and rugged fight, for ’tis their gift to 
die with the rifle or the tomahawk in hand; accord¬ 
ing as their natures may happen to be white or red. 
Uncas, come this way, lad, and let the ravens settle 
upon the Mingo. I know, from often seeing it, that 
they have a craving for the flesh of an Oneida; and it 
is as well to let the bird follow the gift of its natural 
appetite.” 

“Hugh!” exclaimed the young Mohican, rising on 
the extremities of his feet, and gazing intently in his 
front, frightening the raven to some other prey, by 
the sound and the action. 

“What is it, boy?” whispered the scout, lowering 
his tall form into a crouching attitude, like a panther 
about to take his leap. “God send it be a tardy 
Frencher skulking for plunder. I do believe ‘Kill- 
deer’ would take an oncommon range to-day!” 

Uncas, without making any reply, bounded away 
from the spot, and in the next instant he was seen 
tearing from a bush, and waving in triumph, a frag¬ 
ment of the green riding-veil of Cora. The movement, 
the exhibition, and the cry which again burst from 
the lips of the young Mohican, instantly drew the 
whole party once more about him. 

“My child?” said Munro, speaking quick and wild¬ 
ly. “Give me my child!” 

“Uncas will try,” was the short and touching an¬ 
swer. 

The simple but meaning assurance was lost on the 
agitated father, who seized the piece of the veil, and 
crushed it in his hand, while his eyes roamed fear¬ 
fully among the adjacent bushes, as if he equally 
dreaded and hoped for the secrets they might reveal. 

“Here are no dead!” said Heyward, in a voice that 
was hollow and nearly stifled by apprehension. “The 
storm seems not to have passed this way.” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


267 


“That’s manifest, and clearer than the heavens 
above our heads,” returned the cool and undisturbed 
scout. “But either she or they that have robbed her 
have passed the bush; for I remember the rag she 
wore to hide a face that all did love to look upon. 
Uncas, you are right. The dark-hair has been here, 
and she has fled, like a frighted fawn, to the wood. 
None who could fly would remain to be murdered! 
Let us have a search for the marks she left; for to 
Indian eyes I sometimes think even a humming-bird 
leaves his trail in the air!” 

The young Mohican darted away at the suggestion, 
and the scout had hardly done speaking before the 
former raised a cry of success from the margin of 
the forest. On reaching the spot, the anxious party 
perceived another portion of the veil fluttering on the 
lower branch of a beech. 

“Softly, softly,” said the scout, extending his long 
rifle in front of the eager Heyward. “We now know 
our work, but the beauty of the trail must not be 
deformed. A step too soon may give us hours of 
trouble. We have them, though; that much is beyond 
denial.” 

“Bless ye! bless ye! worthy man!” exclaimed the 
agitated father. “Whither then have they fled, and 
where are my babes?” 

“The path they have taken depends on many chances. 
If they have gone alone, as they are quite as likely to 
move in a circle as straight, they may be within a 
dozen of miles of us; but if the Hurons, or any of 
the French Indians, have laid hands on them, ’tis prob¬ 
able they are now near the borders of the Canadas. 
But what matters that?” continued the deliberate 
scout, observing the powerful anxiety and disappoint¬ 
ment the listeners exhibited. “Here are the Mohi¬ 
cans and I on one end of the trail, and, rely on it, 
we find the other, though they should be a hundred 


268 


The Last of the Mohicans 


leagues asunder! Gently, gently, Uncas, you are as 
impatient as a man in the settlements; you forget 
that light feet leave but faint marks!” 

“Hugh!” exclaimed Chingachgook, who had been oc¬ 
cupied in examining an opening that had been evi¬ 
dently made through the low underbrush, which 
skirted the forest; and who now stood erect, as he 
pointed downwards, in the attitude and with the air 
of a man who beheld a disgusting serpent. 

“Here is the palpable impression of the footstep of 
a man/' cried Heyward, bending over the indicated 
spot. “He has trod in the margin of this pool, and 
the mark cannot be mistaken. They are captives.” 

“Better so than left to starve in the wilderness,” 
returned the scout, “and they will leave a wider trail. 
I would wager fifty beaver skins against as many 
flints, that the Mohicans and I enter their wigwams 
within the month! Stoop to it, Uncas, and try what 
you can make of the moccasin; for moccasin it plain¬ 
ly is, and no shoe.” 

The young Mohican bent over the track, and re¬ 
moving the scattered leaves from around the place', 
he examined it with much of that sort of scrutiny, 
that a money-dealer, in these days of pecuniary 
doubts, would bestow on a suspected due-bill. At 
length he arose from his knees, satisfied with the re¬ 
sults of the examination. 

“Well, boy,” demanded the attentive scout, “what 
does it say? Can you make anything of the tell-tale?” 

“Le Renard Subtil! 1 ” 

“Ha! that rampaging devil again! There never 
will be an end of his loping till ‘Killdeer’ has said a 
friendly word to him.” 

Heyward reluctantly admitted the truth of this in¬ 
telligence, and now expressed rather his hopes than 
his doubts by saying— 


The Last of the Mohicans 


269 


“One moccasin is so much like another, it is prob¬ 
able there is some mistake.” 

“One moccasin like another! You may as well say 
that one foot is like another, though we all know 
that some are long and others short, some broad and 
others narrow, some with high and some with low 
insteps, some in-toed and some out ! 10 One moccasin 
is no more like another, than one book is like an¬ 
other; though they who can read in one are seldom 
able to tell the marks of the other: which is all 
ordered for the best, giving to every man his natural 
advantages. Let me get down to it, Uncas; neither 
book nor moccasin is the worse for having two opin¬ 
ions instead of one.” The scout stooped to the task, 
and instantly added, “You are right, boy; here is 
the patch we saw so often on the other chase. And 
the fellow will drink when he can get the opportunity; 
your drinking Indian always learns to walk with a 
wider toe than the natural savage, it being the gift 
of a drunkard, whether of a white or red skin. ’Tis 
just the length and breadth too! Look at it, Saga¬ 
more ; you measured the prints more than once, when 
we hunted the varmints from Glenn’s to the health 
springs.” 

Chingachgook complied, and after finishing his 
short examination, he arose, and with a quiet and 
grave demeanor he merely pronounced, though with 
a foreign accent, the word— 

10 Heckewelder wrote {Indian Nations, VI, 178) : “It is 
certain that the Indians, by the prints of the feet and by 
other marks and signs perceivable only to themselves 
can readily discover, not only that men have passed 
through a particular path or line of march, but they can 
discriminate to what particular nation those men belong, 
and whether they are their friends or their enemies. They 
also make discoveries by examining obscure places, and by 
that means get informed of an enemy’s design.” 



270 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Magua.” 

“Aye, ’tis a settled thing; here then have passed 
the dark-hair and Magua/’ 

“And not Alice?” demanded the startled Heyward. 

“Of her we have not yet seen the signs,” returned 
the scout, looking closely around at the trees, the 
bushes, and the ground. “What have we there! 
Uncas, bring hither the thing you see dangling from 
yonder thornbush.” 

When the youthful Indian warrior had complied, 
the scout received the prize, and holding it on high, 
he laughed in his silent but heartfelt manner, before 
he said — 

“ ’Tis the tootin we’pon of the singer! now we 
shall have a trail a priest might travel. Uncas, look 
for the marks of a shoe that is long enough to up¬ 
hold six feet two of tottering human flesh. I begin 
to have some hopes of the fellow, since he has given 
up squalling to follow some better trade .” 11 

“At least he has been faithful to his trust,” said 
Heyward. “And Cora and Alice are not without a 
friend.” 

“Yes,” said Hawkeye, dropping his rifle, and lean¬ 
ing on it with an air of visible contempt, “he will 
do their singing. Can he slay a buck for their dinner; 
journey by the moss on the beeches, or cut the throat 
of a Huron? If not, the first catbird 12 he meets is 

n In the first edition “follow perhaps better trades.” 

12 The powers of the American mocking-bird are generally 
known. But the true mocking-bird is not found so far 
north as the State of New York, where it has, however, 
two substitutes of inferior excellence, — the catbird, so often 
named by the scout, and the bird vulgarly called ground- 
thresher. Either of these last two birds is superior to the 
nightingale, or the lark, though, in general, the American 
birds are less musical than those of Europe. [Cooper’s 
Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


271 


the cleverest 13 of the two. Well, boy, any signs of 
such a foundation?” 

“Here is something like the footstep of one who 
has worn a shoe ; 14 can it be that of our friend?” 

“Touch the leaves lightly or you’ll disconsart the 
formation. That! that is the print of a foot, but 
’tis the dark-hair’s; and small it is, too, for one of 
such noble height 13 and grand appearance. The singer 
would cover it with his heel.” 

“Where! let me look on the footstep of my child,” 
said Munro, shoving the bushes aside, and bending 
fondly over the nearly obliterated impression. Though 
the tread which had left the mark had been light and 
rapid, it was still plainly visible. The aged soldier 
examined it with eyes that grew dim as he gazed; 
nor did he rise from his stooping posture until Hey¬ 
ward saw that he had watered the trace of his 
daughter’s passage with a scalding tear . 16 Willing 
to divert a distress which threatened each moment 
to break through the restraint of appearances, by 
giving the veteran something to do, the young man 
said to the scout— 

“As we now possess these infallible signs, let us 
commence our march. A moment, at such a time, 
will appear an age to the captives.” 

“It is not the swiftest leaping deer that gives the 
longest chase,” returned Hawkeye, without moving 
his eyes from the different marks that had come 

13 The first edition had “‘cleverest fellow.” Better usage 
would have “cleverer ” 

14 In the first edition there followed, “said Heyward, 
gladly changing the discourse from the abuse of David, 
to whom he now felt the strongest tie of gratitude, ‘can 
it be, etc.’ ” 

15 The first edition had “heighth,” not now a standard 
form. 

38 In the first edition “scalding and heavy tears.” 



272 


The Last of the Mohicans 


under his view. “We know that the rampaging 
Huron has passed, and the dark-hair, and the singer, 
but where is she of the yellow locks and blue eyes? 
Though little, and far from being as bold as her sis¬ 
ter, she is fair to the view, and pleasant in discourse. 
Has she no friend, that none care for her?” 

“God forbid she should ever want hundreds! Are 
we not now in pursuit? For one, I will never cease 
the search till she be found.” 

“In that case we may have to journey by different 
paths; for here she has not passed, light and little as 
her footsteps would be.” 

Heyward drew back, all his ardor to proceed seem¬ 
ing to vanish on the instant. Without attending to 
this sudden change in the other’s humor, the scout, 
after musing a moment, continued— 

“There is no woman in this wilderness could leave 
such a print as that, but the dark-hair or her sister! 
We know that the first has been here, but where are 
the signs of the other? Let us push deeper on the 
trail, and if nothing offers, we must go back to the 
plain, and strike another scent. Move on, Uncas, and 
keep your eyes on the dried leaves. I will watch the 
bushes, while your father shall run with a low nose 
to the ground. Move on, friends; the sun is getting 
behind the hills.” 

“Is there nothing that I can do?” demanded the 
anxious Heyward. 

“You!” repeated the scout, who, with his red 
friends, was already advancing in the order he had 
prescribed, “yes, you can keep in our rear, and be 
careful not to cross the trail.” 

Before they had proceeded many rods, the Indians 
stopped and appeared to gaze at some signs on the 
earth, with more than their usual keenness. Both 
father and son spoke quick and loud, now looking 
at the object of their mutual admiration, and now 


The Last of the Mohicans 


273 


regarding each other with the most unequivocal 
pleasure. 

“They have found the little foot!” exclaimed the 
scout, moving forward, without attending further 
to his own portion of the duty. “What have we here! 
An ambushment has been planted in this spot! No, 
by the truest rifle on the frontiers, here have been 
them one sided horses again! Now the whole secret 
is out, and all is as plain as the north-star at mid¬ 
night. Yes, here they have mounted. There the 
beasts have been bound to a sapling, in waiting; and 
yonder runs the broad path away to the north, in 
full sweep for the Canadas.” 

“But still there are no signs of Alice—of the 
younger Miss Munro,” said Duncan. 

“Unless the shining bauble Uncas has just lifted 
from the ground, should prove one. Pass it this way, 
lad. that we may look at it.” 

Heyward instantly knew it for a trinket that Alice 
was fond of wearing, and which he recollected, with 
the tenacious memory of a lover, to have seen, on the 
fatal morning of the massacre, dangling from the 
fair neck of his mistress. He seized the highly 
nrized jewel: and as he proclaimed the fact, it van¬ 
ished from the eyes of the wondering scout, who in 
vain looked for it on the ground, long after it was 
warmly pressed against the beating heart of Duncan. 

“Pshaw!” said the disappointed Hawkeye, ceasing 
to rake the leaves with the breech of his rifle, “ ’tis 
a certain sign of age, when the sight begins to weak¬ 
en. Such a glittering gewgaw and not to be seen! 
Well, well. I can squint along a clouded barrel 17 yet, 
and that is enough to settle all disputes between me 
and the Mingoes. I should like to find the thing too, if 

n A gun barrel darkened or blued by heating wag un¬ 
favorable for the hunter since it did not reflect the sun¬ 
light. 



274 


The Last of the Mohicans 


it were only to carry it to the right owner, 
and that would be bringing the two ends of what I 
call a long trail together,—for by this time the broad 
St. Lawrence, or perhaps, the Great Lakes them¬ 
selves, are atwixt us .” 18 

“So much the more reason why we should not de¬ 
lay our march,” returned Heyward. “Let us proceed.” 

“Young blood and hot blood, they say, are much 
the same thing. We are not about to start on a 
squirrel hunt, or to drive a deer into the Horican, 
but to outlie for days and nights, and to stretch 
across a wilderness where the feet of men seldom go, 
and where no bookish knowledge would carry you 
through harmless. An Indian never starts on such 
an expedition without smoking over his council-fire; 
and though a man of white blood, I honor their cus¬ 
toms in this particular, seeing that they are deliber¬ 
ate and wise. We will, therefore, go back, and light 
our fire tonight in the ruins of the old fort, and in 
the morning we shall be fresh, and ready to undertake 
our work like men, and not like babbling women or 
eager boys.” 

Heyward saw, by the manner of the scout, that 
altercation would be useless. Munro had again sunk 
into that sort of apathy which had beset him since 
his late overwhelming misfortunes, and from which 
he was apparently to be aroused only by some new and 
powerful excitement. Making a merit of necessity, 
the young man took the veteran by the arm, and fol¬ 
lowed in the footsteps of the Indians and the scout, 
who had already begun to retrace the path which 
conducted them to the plain. 

18 An awkward sentence. Which is preferable, “is” or 
“are”? 



CHAPTER XIX 


Salar. — “Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take 
his flesh; what’s that good for?” 

Shy . — '“To bait fish withal; if it will feed nothing else, 
it will feed my revenge.” 

—Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice, III, i. 

The shades of evening had come to increase the 
dreariness of the place, when the party entered the 
ruins of William Henry. The scout and his com¬ 
panions immediately made their preparations to pass 
the night there; but with an earnestness and sobriety 
of demeanor, that betrayed how much the unusual 
horrors they had just witnessed worked on even their 
practised feelings. A few fragments of rafters were 
reared against a blackened wall; and when Uncas 
had covered them slightly with brush, the temporary 
accommodations were deemed sufficient. The young 
Indian pointed toward this rude hut when his labor 
was ended; and Heyward, who understood the mean¬ 
ing of the silent gesture, gently urged Munro to 
enter. Leaving the bereaved old man alone with 
his sorrows, Duncan immediately returned into the 
open air, too much excited himself to seek the repose 
he had recommended to his veteran friend. 

While Hawkeye and the Indians lighted their fire 
and took their evening’s repast, a frugal meal of 
dried bear’s meat, the young man paid a visit to that 
curtain of the dilapidated fort which looked out on 
the sheet of the Horican. The wind had fallen, and 
the waves were already rolling on the sandy beach be¬ 
neath him, in a more regular and tempered succes¬ 
sion. The clouds, as if tired of their furious chase, 
were breaking asunder; the heavier volumes gather¬ 
ing in black masses about the horizon, while the 
lighter scud still hurried above the water, or eddied 
among the tops of the mountains, like broken flights 
of birds, hovering around their roosts. Here and there 
a red and fiery star struggled through the drifting 
[ 275 ] 


276 


The Last of the Mohicans 


vapor, furnishing a lurid glim of brightness to the dull 
aspect of the heavens. Within the bosom of the en¬ 
circling hills, an impenetrable darkness had already 
settled, and the plain lay like a vast and deserted 
charnel-house, without omen or whisper, to disturb 
the slumbers of its numerous and hapless tenants. 

Of this scene, so chillingly in accordance with the 
past, Duncan stood for many minutes a rapt observer. 
His eyes wandered from the bosom of the mound, 
where the foresters were seated around their glim¬ 
mering fire, to the fainter light, which still lingered 
in the skies, and then rested long and anxiously on 
the embodied gloom, which lay like a dreary void 
on that side of him where reposed the dead. He 
soon fancied that inexplicable sounds arose from the 
place, though so indistinct and stolen, as to render 
not only their nature, but even their existence, un¬ 
certain. Ashamed of his apprehensions, the young 
man turned towards the water, and strove to divert 
his attention to the mimic stars that dimly glimmered 
along its moving surface. Still his too conscious 
ears performed their ungrateful duty, as if to warn 
him of some lurking danger. At length a swift 
trampling seemed, quite audibly, to rush athwart 
the darkness. Unable any longer to quiet his un¬ 
easiness, Duncan spoke in a low voice to the scout, 
requesting him to ascend the mound, to the place 
where he stood. Hawkeye threw his rifle across his 
arm, and complied, but with an air so unmoved and 
calm, as to prove how much he counted on the se¬ 
curity of their position. 

“Listen,” said Duncan, when the other had placed 
himself deliberately at his elbow, “there are sup¬ 
pressed noises on the plain, which may show that 
Montcalm has not yet entirely deserted his con¬ 
quest.” 

“Then ears are better than eyes,” said the undis- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


277 


turbed scout, who, having just deposited a portion 
of a bear between his grinders, spoke thick and slow, 
like one whose mouth was doubly occupied. “I my¬ 
self saw him caged in Ty 1 with all his host; for your 
Frenchers, when they have done a clever thing, like 
to get back, and have a dance, or a merry-making, 
over the success.” 

“I know not. An Indian seldom sleeps in war, 
and plunder may keep a Huron here, after his tribe 
has departed. It would be well to extinguish the 
fire, and have a watch—Listen! you hear the noise 
I mean.” 

“An Indian more rarely lurks about the graves. 
Though ready to slay, and not over regardful of the 
means, he is commonly content with the scalp, unless 
when blood is hot, and temper up; but after the spirit 
is once fairly gone, he forgets his enmity, and is 
willing to let the dead find their natural rest. Speak¬ 
ing of spirits, Major, are you of opinion that the 
heaven of a red-skin, and of us whites, will be one 
and the same?” 

“No doubt—no doubt. I thought I heard it again! 
or was it the rustling of the leaves in the top of the 
beech?” 

“For my own part,” continued Hawkeye, turning 
his face for a moment in the direction indicated by 
Heyward, but with a vacant and careless manner, 
“I believe that paradise is ordained for happiness; 
and that men will be indulged in it according to their 
dispositions and gifts. I therefore judge that a red¬ 
skin is not far from the truth, when he believes that 
he is to find them glorious hunting-grounds of which 
his traditions tell; nor, for that matter, do I think it 
would be any disparagement to a man without a 
cross to pass his time—” 

“You hear it again?” interrupted Duncan. 


^Ticonderoga. 



278 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Aye, aye; when food grows scarce, and when food 
is plenty, a wolf grows bold,” said the unmoved scout. 
“There would be picking, too, among the skins o£ 
the devils, if there was light and time for the sport. 
But, concerning the life that is to come, Major: I 
have heard preachers say, in the settlements, that 
heaven is a place of rest. Now men’s minds differ 
as to their ideas of enjoyment. For myself, and 
I say it with reverence to the ordering of Providence, 
it would be no great indulgence to be kept shut up 
in those mansions of which they preach, having a 
natural longing for motion and the chase.” 

Duncan, who was now made to understand the 
nature of the noise he had heard, answered with 
more attention to the subject which the scout had 
chosen for discussion, by saying— 

“It is difficult to account for the feelings that may 
attend the last great change.” 

“It would be a change, indeed, for a man who has 
passed his days in the open air,” returned the single- 
minded scout, “and who has so often broken his fast 
on the head-waters of the Hudson, to sleep within 
sound of the roaring Mohawk. But it is a comfort 
to know we serve a merciful Master, though we do 
it each after his fashion, and with great tracts of 
wilderness atween us—What goes there?” 

“Is it not the rushing of the wolves you have men¬ 
tioned?” 

Hawkeye slowly shook his head, and beckoned for 
Duncan to follow him to a spot, to which the glare 
from the fire did not extend. When he had taken this 
precaution, the scout placed himself in an attitude 
of intense attention, and listened long and keenly 
for a repetition of the low sound that had so un¬ 
expectedly startled him. His vigilance, however, 
seemed exercised in vain; for after a fruitless pause, 
he whispered to Duncan— 


The Last of the Mohicans 


279 


“We will give a call to Uncas. The boy has In¬ 
dian senses, and may hear what is hid from us; for 
being a white-skin, I will not deny my nature/’ 

The young Mohican, who was conversing in a low 
voice with his father, started as he heard the moan¬ 
ing of an owl, and springing to his feet he looked 
toward the black mounds, as if seeking the place 
whence the sound proceeded. The scout repeated 
the call, and in a few moments, Duncan saw the figure 
of Uncas stealing cautiously along the rampart, to 
the spot where they stood. 

Hawkeye explained his wishes in a very few words, 
which were spoken in the Delaware tongue. As soon 
as Uncas was in possession of the reason why he 
was summoned, he threw himself flat on the turf; 
where, to the eyes of Duncan, he appeared to lie quiet 
and motionless. Surprised at the immovable atti¬ 
tude of the young warrior, and curious to observe 
the manner in which he employed his faculties to 
obtain the desired information, Heyward advanced a 
few steps, and bent over the dark object on which 
he had kept his eyes riveted. Then it was he dis¬ 
covered that the form of Uncas had vanished, and 
that he beheld only the dark outline of an inequality 
in the embankment. 

“What has become of the Mohican?” he demanded 
of the scout, stepping back in amazement. “It was 
here that I saw him fall, and I could have sworn that 
here he yet remained.” 

“Hist! speak lower; for we know not what ears 
are open, and the Mingoes are a quick-witted breed. 
As for Uncas, he is out on the plain, and the Maquas, 
if any are about us, will find their equal.” 

“You then think that Montcalm has not called off 
all his Indians! Let us give the alarm to our com¬ 
panions, that we may stand by our arms. Here are 
five of us, who are not unused to meet an enemy.” 


280 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Not a word to either, as you value your life! Look 
at the Sagamore, how like a grand Indian chief he 
sits by the fire. If there are any skulkers out in 
the darkness, they will never discover by his coun¬ 
tenance that we suspect danger to be at hand.” 

“But they may discover him, and it will prove his 
death. His person can be too plainly seen by the 
light of that fire, and he will become the first and 
most certain victim.” 

“It is undeniable that now you speak the truth,” 
returned the scout, betraying more of anxiety in his 
manner than was usual. “Yet what can be done! A 
single suspicious look might bring on an attack before 
we are ready to receive it. He knows by the call I 
gave to Uncas, that we have struck a scent! I will 
tell him that we are on the trail of the Mingoes. His 
Indian nature will teach him how to act.” 

The scout then applied his fingers to his mouth, 
and raised a low hissing sound, that caused Duncan 
at first to start aside, believing that he heard a ser¬ 
pent. The head of Chingachgook was resting on his 
hand, as he sat musing by himself; but the moment 
he heard the warning of the animal whose name he 
bore, it arose to an upright position, and his dark 
eyes glanced swiftly and keenly on every side of him. 
With this sudden, and, perhaps involuntary movement, 
every appearance of surprise or alarm was ended. 
His rifle lay untouched, and apparently unnoticed, 
within reach of his hand. The tomahawk he had 
loosened in his belt, for the sake of ease, was even 
suffered to fall from its usual situation to the ground, 
and his form seemed to sink, like that of a man whose 
nerves and sinews were suffered to relax for the pur¬ 
pose of rest. Cunningly resuming his former posi¬ 
tion, though with a change of hands, as if the move¬ 
ment had been made merely to relieve the limb, the 
native awaited the Result with a calmness and forti- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


281 


tude that none but an Indian warrior would have 
known how to exercise. 

But. Hey ward saw that while to a less instructed 
eye the Mohican chief appeared to slumber, his 
nostrils were expanded, his head was turned a little 
to one side, as if to assist the organs of hearing, and 
that his quick and rapid glances ran incessantly over 
every object within the power of his vision. 

“See the noble fellow!’’ whispered Hawkeye, press¬ 
ing the arm of Heyward. “He knows that a look or 
a motion might disconsart our schemes, and put us 
at the mercy of them imps—” 

He was interrupted by the flash and report of a 
rifle. The air was filled with sparks of fire around 
that spot where the eyes of Heyward were still fas¬ 
tened with admiration and wonder. A second look 
told him that Chingachgook had disappeared in the 
confusion. In the meantime the scout had thrown 
forward his rifle, like one prepared for service , 2 and 
waited impatiently the moment when an enemy might 
rise to view. But with the solitary and fruitless at¬ 
tempt made on the life of Chingachgook, the attack 
appeared to have terminated. Once or twice the lis¬ 
teners thought they could distinguish the distant 
rustling of bushes, as bodies of some unknown de¬ 
scription rushed through them; nor was it long be¬ 
fore Hawkeye pointed out the “scampering of the 
wolves,” as they fled precipitately before the passage 
of some intruder 3 on their proper domains. After 
an impatient and breathless pause , 4 a plunge was 
heard in the water, and it was immediately followed 
by the report of another rifle. 

“There goes Uncas!” said the scout. “The boy 
bears a smart piece! I know its crack, as well as a 

-In the first edition “for instant service.” 

*In the first, edition “intruders.” 

4 In the first edition “pause of several minutes.” 



282 


The Last of the Mohicans 


father knows the language of his child, for I carried 
the gun myself until a better offered.” 

“What can this mean?” demanded Duncan. “We 
are watched, and, as it would seem, marked for de¬ 
struction.” 

“Yonder scattered brand can witness that no good 
was intended, and this Indian will testify that no 
harm has been done,” returned the scout, dropping 
his rifle across his arm again, and following Chin- 
gachgook, who just then reappeared within the circle 
of light, into the bosom of the works. “How is it, 
Sagamore? Are the Mingoes upon us in earnest, or 
is it only one of those reptyles who hang upon the 
skirts of a war party, to scalp the dead, go in, and 
make their boast among the squaws of the valiant 
deeds done on the pale-faces!” 

Chingachgook very quietly resumed his seat, nor 
did he make any reply, until after he had examined 
the fire-brand which had been struck by the bullet, 
that had nearly proved fatal to himself. After which, 
he was content to reply, holding a single finger up 
to view, with the English monosyllable— 

“One.” 

“I thought as much,” returned Hawkeye, seating 
himself, “and as he had got the cover of the lake afore 
Uncas pulled upon him, it is more than probable the 
knave will sing his lies about some great ambush- 
ment, in which he was outlying on the trail of two 
Mohicans and a white hunter—for the officers can be 
considered as little better than idlers in such a scrim¬ 
mage. Well, let him—let him. There are always 
some honest men in every nation, though Heaven 
knows, too, that they are scarce among the Maquas, 
to look down an upstart when he brags ag’in the face 
of all reason! The varlet sent his lead within the 
whistle of your ears, Sagamore.” 

Chingachgook turned a calm and incurious eye 


The Last of the Mohicans 


283 


towards the place where the ball had struck, and then 
resumed his former attitude, with a composure that 
could not be disturbed by so trifling an incident. 
Just then Uncas glided into the circle, and seated him¬ 
self at the fire, with the same appearance of indiffer¬ 
ence as was maintained by his father. 

Of these several movements, Heyward was a deep¬ 
ly interested and wondering observer. It appeared 
to him as though the foresters had some secret 
means of intelligence, which had escaped the vigilance 
of his own faculties. In place of that eager and 
garrulous narration, with which a white youth would 
have endeavored to communicate, and perhaps exag¬ 
gerate, that which had passed out in the darkness 
of the plain, the young warrior was seemingly con¬ 
tent to let his deeds speak for themselves. It was, in 
fact, neither the moment nor the occasion for an 
Indian to boast of his exploits; and it is probable, 
that had Heyward neglected to inquire, not another 
syllable would, just then, have been uttered on the 
subject. 

“What has become of our enemy, Uncas?” demand¬ 
ed Duncan. “We heard your rifle, and hoped you 
had not fired in vain.” 

The young chief removed a fold of his hunting- 
shirt, and quietly exposed the fatal tuft of hair, 
which he bore as the symbol of victory. Chingachgook 
laid his hand on the scalp, and considered it for a 
moment with deep attention. Then dropping it with 
disgust depicted in his strong features, he ejaculat¬ 
ed— 

“Oneida!” 6 

“Oneida!” repeated the scout, who was fast losing 
his interest in the scene, in an apathy nearly assim¬ 
ilated to that of his red associates, but who now 
advanced with uncommon earnestness to regard the 

*“Hugh ! Oneida!” in the first? edition. 



284 


The ' Last of the Mohicans 


bloody badge. “By the Lord, if the Oneidas are outly¬ 
ing upon the trail, we shall be flanked by the devils on 
every side of us! Now, to white eyes there is no 
difference between this bit of skin and that of any 
other Indian, and yet the Sagamore declares it came 
from the poll of a Mingo; nay, he even names the 
tribe of the poor devil with as much ease as if the 
scalp was the leaf of a book, and each hair a letter. 
What right have Christian whites to boast of their 
learning, when a savage can read a language that 
would prove too much for the wisest of them all! 
What say you, lad? Of what people was the knave?” 

Uncas raised his eyes to the face of the scout, and 
answered, in his soft voice,— 

“Oneida.” 

“Oneida, again! when one Indian makes a declara¬ 
tion it is commonly true; but when he is supported by 
his people, set it down as gospel!” 

“The poor fellow has mistaken us for French,” 
said Heyward, “or he would not have attempted the 
life of a friend.” 

“He mistake a Mohican in his paint for a Huron! 
You would be as likely to mistake the white-coated 
grenadiers of Montcalm for the scarlet jackets of 
the ‘Royal Americans/ ” 6 returned the scout. “No, no, 
the sarpent knew his errand; nor was there any great 
mistake in the matter, for there is but little love 
atween a Delaware and a Mingo, let their tribes go 
out to fight for whom they may, in a white 
quarrel. For that matter, though the Oneidas do 
serve his sacred majesty, who is my own sovereign 
lord and master, I should not have deliberated long 
about letting off ‘Killdeer’ at the imp myself, had 
luck thrown him in my way.” 

“That would have been an abuse of our treaties, 
and unworthy of your character.” 


“The King’s troops. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


285 


“When a man consorts much with a people/’ con¬ 
tinued Hawkeye, “if they are honest and he no knave, 
love will grow atwixt them. It is true that white 
cunning has managed to throw the tribes into great 
confusion, as respects friends and enemies; so that 
the Hurons and the Oneidas, who speak the same 
tongue, or what may be called the same, take each 
other’s scalps, and the Delawares are divided among 
themselves; a few hanging about their great council- 
fire on their owp river, and fighting on the same side 
with the Mingoes, while the greater part are in the 
Canadas, out of natural enmity to the Maquas—thus 
throwing everything into disorder, and destroying 
all the harmony of warfare. Yet a red natur is not 
likely to alter with every shift of policy; so that the 
love atwixt a Mohican and a Mingo is much like the 
regard between a white man and a sarpent.” 

“I regret to hear it; for I had believed those natives 
who dwelt within our boundaries had found us too 
just and liberal not to identify themselves fully with 
our quarrels.” 

“Why, I believe it is natur to give a preference to 
one’s own quarrels before those of strangers. Now. 
for myself, I do love justice; and, therefore, I will 
not say I hate a Mingo, for that may be unsuitable 
to my color and my religion—though I will just re 
peat, it may have been owing to the night that ‘Kill- 
deer’ had no hand in the death of this skulking Onei¬ 
da.” 

Then, as if satisfied with the force of his own rea 
sons, whatever might be their effect on the opinions 
of the other disputant, the honest but implacable 
woodsman turned from the fire, content to let the 
controversy slumber. Heyward withdrew to the 
rampart, too uneasy and too little accustomed to the 
warfare of the woods, to remain at ease under the 
possibility of such insidious attacks. Not so, how- 


286 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ever, with the scout and the Mohicans. Those acute 
and long practised senses, whose powers so often ex¬ 
ceeded the limits of all ordinary credulity, after hav¬ 
ing detected the danger, had enabled them to ascertain 
its magnitude and duration. Not one of the three ap¬ 
peared in the least to doubt, now, of their perfect se¬ 
curity, as was indicated by the preparations that 
were soon made, to sit in council over their future 
proceedings. 

The confusion of nations, and even of tribes, to 
which Hawkeye alluded, existed at that period in the 
fullest force. The great tie of language, and of 
course of a common origin, was severed in many 
places; and it was one of the consequences that the 
Delaware and the Mingo, (as the people of the Six 
Nations were called,) were found lighting in the 
same ranks, while the latter sought the scalp of the 
Huron, though believed to be the root of his own 
stock. The Delawares were even divided among 
themselves. Though love for the soil which had be¬ 
longed to his ancestors, kept the Sagamore of the 
Mohicans, with a small band of followers who were 
serving at Edward, under the banner of the English 
king, by far the largest portion of his nation were 
known to be in the field as allies of Montcalm. The 
reader probably knows, if enough has not already been 
gleaned from this narrative, that the Delaware, or 
Lenape, claimed to be the progenitors of that numer¬ 
ous people who once were masters of most of the 
eastern and northern states of America, of whom the 
community of the Mohicans was an ancient and highly 
honored member. 

It was of course with a perfect understanding of 
the minute and intricate interests which had armed 
friend against friend, and brought natural enemies 
to combat by each other’s side, that the scout and 
his companions now disposed themselves to deliberate 


The Last op the Mohicans 


287 


on the measures that were to govern their future 
movements, amid so many jarring and savage races 
of men. Duncan knew enough of Indian customs to 
understand the reason that the fire was replenished, 
and why the warriors, not excepting Hawkeye, took 
their seats within the curl of its smoke, with so much 
gravity and decorum. Placing himself at an angle 
of the works, where he might be a spectator of the 
scene within, while he kept a watchful eye against 
any danger from without, he waited the result, with 
as much patience as he could summon for the occa¬ 
sion. 

After a short and impressive pause, Chingachgook 
lighted a pipe, whose bowl was curiously carved in 
one of the soft stones of the country, and whose stem 
was a tube of wood, and commenced smoking. When 
he had inhaled enough of the fragrance of the sooth¬ 
ing weed, he passed the instrument into the hands 
of the scout. In this manner the pipe had made its 
rounds three several times, amid the most profound 
silence, before either of the party opened his lips 
to speak. Then the Sagamore, as the oldest and high¬ 
est in rank, in a few calm and dignified words, pro¬ 
posed the subject for deliberation. He was answered 
by the scout; and Chingachgook rejoined, when the 
other objected to his opinions. But the youthful 
Uncas continued a silent and respectful listener, until 
Hawkeye, in complaisance, demanded his opinion. 
Heyward gathered from the manner of the different 
speakers, that the father and son espoused one side 
of a disputed question, while the white man main¬ 
tained the other. The contest gradually grew warmer, 
until it was quite evident the feelings of the speakers 
began to be somewhat enlisted in the debate. 

Notwithstanding the increasing warmth of the 
amicable contest, the most decorous Christian as¬ 
sembly, not even excepting those in which its reverend 


288 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ministers are collected, might have learned a whole¬ 
some lesson of moderation from the forbearance arm 
courtesy of the disputants. The words of Uncas were 
received with the same deep attention as those which 
fell from the maturer wisdom of his father; and so 
far from manifesting any impatience, neither spoke 
in reply, until a few moments of silent meditation 
were, seemingly, bestowed in deliberating on what 
had already been said. 

The language of the Mohicans was accompanied by 
gestures so direct and natural, that Heyward had but 
little difficulty in following the thread of their argu¬ 
ment. On the other hand, the scout was obscure; 
because, from the lingering pride of color, he rather 
affected the cold and artificial' manner which char¬ 
acterizes all classes of Anglo-Americans, when un¬ 
excited. By the frequency with which the Indians 
described the marks of a forest trail, it was evident 
they urged a pursuit by land, while the repeated 
sweep of Hawkeye’s arm towards the Horican denoted 
that he was for a passage across its waters. 

The latter was to every appearance fast losing 
ground, and the point was about to be decided against 
him, when he arose to his feet, and shaking off his 
apathy, he suddenly assumed the manner of an Indian, 
and adopted all the arts of native eloquence. Ele¬ 
vating an arm, he pointed out the track of the sun, 
repeating the gesture for every day that was neces¬ 
sary to accomplish their object. Then he delineated 
a long and painful path, amid rocks and water-courses. 
The age and weakness of the slumbering and un¬ 
conscious Munro was indicated by.signs too palpable 
to be mistaken. Duncan perceived that even his own 
powers were spoken lightly of, as the scout extended 
his palm, and mentioned him by the appellation of 
“The Open Hand,”—a name his liberality had pur- 

xix tlie first edition “cold inartificial manner.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


289 


chased of all the friendly tribes. Then came a repre¬ 
sentation of the light and graceful movements of a 
canoe, set in forcible contrast to the tottering steps of 
one enfeebled and tired. He concluded by pointing to 
the scalp of the Oneida, and apparently urging the 
necessity of their departing speedily, and in a man¬ 
ner that should leave no trail. 

The Mohicans listened gravely, and with coun¬ 
tenances that reflected the sentiments of the speaker. 
Conviction gradually wrought its influence, and to¬ 
wards the close of Hawkeye’s speech, his sentences 
were accompanied by the customary exclamation of 
commendation. In short, Uncas and his father be¬ 
came converts to his way of thinking, abandoning 
their own previously expressed opinions with a lib¬ 
erality and candor that, had they been the represen¬ 
tatives of some great and civilized people, would 
have infallibly worked their political ruin, by de¬ 
stroying, forever, their reputation for consistency. 

The instant the matter in discussion was decided, 
the debate, and everything connected with it, ex¬ 
cept the result, appeared to be forgotten. Hawkeye, 
without looking round to read his triumph in ap¬ 
plauding eyes, very composedly stretched his tall 
frame before the dying embers, and closed his own 
organs in sleep. 

Left now in a measure to themselves, the Mohicans, 
whose time had been so much devoted to the inter¬ 
ests of others, seized the moment to devote some at¬ 
tention to themselves. Casting off at once the grave 
and austere demeanor of an Indian chief, Chingach- 
gook commenced speaking to his son in the soft and 
playful tones of affection. Uncas gladly met the 
familiar air of his father, and before the hard 
breathing of the scout announced that he slept, a 


290 


The Last of the Mohicans 


complete change was effected in the manner of his 
two associates. 

It is impossible to describe the music of their 
language, while thus engaged in laughter and en¬ 
dearments, in such a way as to render it intelligible 
to those whose ears have never listened to its 
melody. 

The compass of their voices, particularly that of 
the youth, was wonderful; extending from the 
deepest bass, to tones that were even feminine in 
softness. The eyes of the father followed the plastic 
and ingenious movements of the son with open de¬ 
light, and he never failed to smile in reply to the 
other’s contagious but low laughter. While under 
the influence of these gentle and natural feelings, no 
trace of ferocity was to be seen in the softened fea¬ 
tures of the Sagamore. His figured panoply of death 
looked more like a disguise assumed in mockery, 
than a fierce annunciation of a desire to carry de¬ 
struction and desolation in his footsteps. 

After an hour passed in the indulgence of their 
better feelings, Chingachgook abruptly announced 
his desire to sleep, by wrapping his head in his 
blanket, and stretching his form on the naked earth. 
The merriment of Uncas instantly ceased, and care¬ 
fully raking the coals in such a manner that they 
should impart their warmth to his father’s feet, the 
youth sought his own pillow among the ruins of the 
place. 

Imbibing renewed confidence from the security of 
these experienced foresters, Heyward soon imitated 
their example; and long before the night had turned, 
they who lay in the bosom of the ruined work seemed 
to slumber as heavily as the unconscious multitude 
whose bones were already beginning to bleach on 
the surrounding plain. 


CHAPTER XX 


“Land of Albania! Let me bend mine eyes 
On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men!” 

—Byron, Childe Harold , II, xxxviii. 

The heavens were still studded with stars, when 
Hawkeye came to arouse the sleepers. Casting aside 
their cloaks, Munro and Heyward were on their feet 
while the woodsman was still making his low calls, 
at the entrance of the rude shelter where they had 
passed the night. When they issued from beneath 
its concealment, they found the scout awaiting 
their appearance nigh by, and the only salutation be¬ 
tween them was the significant gesture for silence 
made by their sagacious leader. 

“Think over your prayers/’ he whispered, as they 
approached him, “for He to whom you make them 
knows all tongues: that of the heart, as well as those 
of the mouth. But speak not a syllable. It is rare 
for a white voice to pitch itself properly in the 
woods, as we have seen by the example of that mis¬ 
erable devil, the singer. Come,” he continued, turn¬ 
ing toward a curtain of the works, “let us get into 
the ditch on this side and be regardful to step on 
the stones and fragments of wood as you go.” 

His companions complied, though to two of them 
the reasons of this extraordinary precaution were 
yet a mystery. When they were in the low cavity 
that surrounded the earthen fort on three sides, 
they found the passage nearly choked by the ruins. 
With care and patience, however, they succeeded in 
clambering after the scout, until they reached the 
sandy shore of the Horican. 

“That’s a trail that nothing but a nose can follow,” 
said the satisfied scout, looking back along their 
difficult way. “Grass is a treacherous carpet for a 
[ 291 ] 


292 


The Last of the Mohicans 


flying party to tread on, but wood and stone take no 
print from a moccasin. Had you worn your armed 
boots, there might, indeed, have been something to 
fear; but with the deer-skin suitably prepared, a 
man may trust himself, generally, on rocks with 
safety. Shove in the canoe 1 nigher to the land, 
Uncas; this sand will take a stamp as easily as the 
butter of the Jarmans 3 on the Mohawk. Softly, lad, 
softly; it must not touch the beach, or the knaves 
will know by what road we have left the place.” 

The young man observed the precaution; and the 
scout, laying a board from the ruins to the canoe, 
made a sign for the two officers to enter. When this 
was done, everything was studiously restored to its 
former disorder; and then Hawkeye succeeded in 
reaching his little birchen vessel, without leaving 
behind him any of those marks which he appeared 
so much to dread. Heyward was silent, until the 
Indians had cautiously paddled the canoe some dis¬ 
tance from the fort, and within the broad and dark 
shadow that fell from the eastern mountain on the 
glassy surface of the lake; then he demanded— 

“What need have we for this stolen and hurried 
departure?” 

“If the blood of an Oneida could stain such a 
sheet of pure water as this we float on,” returned 
the scout, “your two eyes would answer your own 
question. Have you forgotten the skulking reptyle 
that Uncas slew?” 

“By no means. But he was said to be alone, and 
dead men give no cause for fear.” 

ir Fhe canoe was stolen by Uncas from the Hurons. See 
the scout’s complimentary remark to him on page 300. 

2 The first edition had “Butchers.” See Glossary of 
names. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


293 


“Aye, he was alone in his deviltry! But an In¬ 
dian whose tribe counts so many warriors need sel¬ 
dom fear his blood will run, without the death-shriek 
coming speedily from some of his enemies.” 

“But our presence—the authority of Colonel Mun- 
ro— would prove sufficient protection against the 
anger of our allies, especially in a case where the 
wretch so well merited his fate. I trust in Heaven 
you have not deviated a single foot from the direct 
line of our course with so slight a reason!” 

“Do you think the bullet of that varlet’s rifle 
would have turned aside, though his sacred majesty 
the king had stood in its path?” returned the stub¬ 
born scout. “Why did not the grand Frencher , 3 he 
who is captain-general of the Canadas, bury the 
tomahawks of the Hurons, if a word from a white 
can work so strongly on the nature of an Indian?” 

The reply of Heyward was interrupted by a groan 
from Munro; but after he had paused a moment, in 
deference to the sorrow of his aged friend, he re¬ 
sumed the subject. 

“The Marquis of Montcalm can only settle that 
error with his God,” said the young man, solemnly. 

“Aye, aye, now there is reason in your words, for 
they are bottomed on religion and honesty. There 
is a vast difference between throwing a regiment of 
white-coats atwixt the tribes and the prisoners, and 
coaxing an angry savage to forget he carries a knife 
and a rifle, with words that must begin with calling 
him your son . 4 No, no,” continued the scout, looking 
back at the dim shore of William Henry, which was 
now fast receding, and laughing in his own silent 
but heartfelt manner. “I have put a trail of water 

“Montcalm. 

4 Printed ‘your son’ in the first edition. Cooper later 
dropped the half-quotes. 



294 


The Last of the Mohicans 


atween us; and unless the imps can make friends 
with the fishes, and hear who has paddled across 
their basin this fine morning, we shall throw the 
length of the Horican behind us before they have 
made up their minds which path to take.” 

“With foes in front, and foes in our rear, our 
journey is like to be one of danger.” 

“Danger!” repeated Hawkeye, calmly, “no, not ab¬ 
solutely of danger; for, with vigilant ears and quick 
eyes, we can manage to keep a few hours ahead of 
the knaves; or, if we must tr.v the rifle, there are 
three of us who understand its gifts as well as any 
you can name on the borders. No, not of danger; 
but that we shall have what you may call a brisk 
push of it, is probable; and it may happen, a brush, 
a scrimmage, or some such divarsion, but always 
where covers are good, and ammunition abundant.” 

It is possible that Heyward’s estimate of danger 
differed in some degree from that of the scout, for 
instead of replying, he now sat in silence, while the 
canoe glided over several miles of water. Just as 
the day dawned, they entered the narrows of the 
lake , 5 and stole swiftly and cautiously among their 

5 The beauties of Lake George are well known to every 
American tourist. In the height of the mountains which 
surround it. and in artificial accessories, it is inferior 
to the finest of the Swiss and Italian lakes, while in out¬ 
line and purity of water it is fully their equal; and in 
the number and disposition of its isles and islets much 
superior to them all together. There are said to be some 
hundreds of islands in a sheet of water less than thirty 
miles long. The narrows which connect what may be 
called, in truth, two lakes, are crowded with islands to 
such a degree as to leave passages between them frequent¬ 
ly of only a few feet in width. The lake itself varies 
in breadth from one to three miles. 

The State of New York is remarkable for the number 



The Last of the Mohicans 


295 


numberless little islands. It was by this road that 
Montcalm had retired with his army; and the adven¬ 
turers knew not but he had left some of his Indians 
in ambush, to protect the rear of his forces, and 
collect the stragglers. They, therefore, approached 
the passage with the customary silence of their 
guarded habits. 

Chingachgook laid aside his paddle; while Uncas 
and the scout urged the light vessel through crooked 
and intricate channels, where every foot that they 
advanced exposed them to the danger of some sud¬ 
den rising on their progress. The eyes of the Saga¬ 
more moved warily from islet to islet, and copse to 
copse, as the canoe proceeded; and when a clearer 
sheet of water permitted, his keen vision was bent 
along the bald rocks and impending forests, that 
frowned upon the narrow strait. 

Heyward, who was a doubly interested spectator, 
as well from the beauties of the place as from the 
apprehension natural to his situation, was just be¬ 
lieving that he had permitted the latter to be ex¬ 
cited without sufficient reason, when the paddles 
ceased moving, in obedience to a signal from Ching¬ 
achgook. 

“Hugh!” exclaimed Uncas, nearly at the moment 
that the light tap his father had made on the side 
of the canoe notified them of the vicinity of danger. 

“What now?” asked the scout. “The lake is as 
smooth as if the winds had never blown, and I can 

and beauty of its lakes. One of its frontiers lies on the 
vast sheet of Ontario, while Champlain stretches nearly 
a hundred miles along another. Oneida, Cayuga, Canan¬ 
daigua, Seneca, and George, are all lakes of thirty miles 
in length, while those of a size smaller are without num¬ 
ber. On most of these lakes there are now beautiful vil¬ 
lages, and on many of them steamboats. 



296 


The Last of the Mohicans 


see along its sheet for miles. There is not so much 
as the black head of a loon dotting the water!” 

The Indian gravely raised his paddle, and pointed 
in the direction that his own steady look was riveted. 
Duncan’s eyes followed the motion. A few rods in 
their front lay another of the low wooded islets, but 
it appeared as calm and peaceful as if its solitude 
had never been disturbed by the foot of man. 

“I see nothing,” he said, “but land and water; and 
a lovely scene it is!” 

“Hist!” interrupted the scout. “Aye, Sagamore, 
there is always a reason for what you do! ’Tis but 
a shade, and yet it is not natural. You see the 
mist, Major, that is rising above the island; you 
can’t call it a fog, for it is more like a streak of 
thin cloud”— 

“It is a vapor from the water.” 

“That a child could tell. But what is the edging 
of blacker smoke that hangs along its lower side, 
and which you may trace down into the thicket of 
hazel? ’Tis from a fire, but one that in my judgment 
has been suffered to burn low.” 

“Let us then push for the place and relieve our 
doubts,” said the impatient Duncan. “The party 
must be small that can lie on such a bit of land.” 

“If you judge of Indian cunning by the rules you 
find in books, or by white sagacity, they will lead 
you astray, if not to your death,” returned Hawkeye, 
examining the signs of the place with that acuteness 
which distinguished him. “If I may be permitted to 
speak in this matter, it will be easy to say, that 
we have but two things to choose between; the one 
is to return, and give up all thoughts of following 
the Hurons—” 

“Never!” exclaimed Heyward, in a voice far too 
loud for their circumstances. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


297 


“Well, well,” continued Hawkeye, making a hasty 
sign to suppress his ardor, “I am much of your mind 
myself, though I thought it becoming my experience 
to tell the whole. We must then make a push, and 
if the Indians or Frenchers are in the narrows, run 
the gauntlet through these toppling mountains. Is 
there reason in my words, Sagamore?” 

The Indian made no other answer than by drop¬ 
ping his paddle into the water and urging forward 
the canoe. As he held the office of directing its 
course, his resolution was sufficiently indicated by 
the movement. The whole party now plied their 
paddles vigorously, and in a very few moments they 
had reached a point whence they might command 
an entire view of the northern shore of the island, 
the side that had hitherto been concealed. 

“There they are, by all the truth of signs!” whis¬ 
pered the scout. “Two canoes and a smoke! The 
knaves haven’t yet got their eyes out of the mist, 
or we should hear the accursed whoop. Together, 
friends—we are leaving them, and are already near¬ 
ly out of whistle of a bullet.” 

The well known crack of a rifle, whose ball came 
skipping along the placid surface of the strait, and 
a shrill yell from the island, interrupted his speech, 
and announced that their passage was discovered. 
In another instant several savages were seen rush¬ 
ing into the canoes, which were soon dancing over 
the water in swift pursuit. These fearful precursors 
of a coming struggle produced no change in the 
countenances and movements of his three guides, so 
far as Duncan could discover, except that the strokes 
of their paddles were longer and more in unison, 
and caused the little bark to spring forward like a 
creature possessing life and volition. 

“Hold them there, Sagamore,” said Hawkeye, look- 


298 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ing coolly backward over his left shoulder, while he 
still plied his paddle. “Keep them just there. Them 
Hurons have never a piece in their nation that will 
execute at this distance; but ‘Killdeer’ has a barrel 
on which a man may safely calculate.” 

The scout having ascertained that the Mohicans 
were sufficient of themselves to maintain the req¬ 
uisite distance, deliberately laid aside his paddle, 
and raised the fatal rifle. Three several times he 
brought the piece to his shoulder, and when his 
companions were expecting its report, he as often 
lowered it to request the Indians would permit their 
enemies to approach a little nigher. At length his 
accurate and fastidious eye seemed satisfied, and 
throwing out his left arm on the barrel, he was slow¬ 
ly elevating the muzzle, when an exclamation from 
Uncas, who sat in the bow, once more caused him to 
suspend the shot. 

“What now, lad?” demanded Hawkeye. “You 
saved a Huron from the death-shriek by that word. 
Have you reason for what you do?” 

Uncas pointed towards the rocky shore a little in 
their front, whence another war canoe was darting 
directly across their course. It was too obvious now 
that their situation was imminently perilous to need 
the aid of language to confirm it. The scout laid 
aside his rifle, and resumed the paddle, while Chin- 
gachgook inclined the bows of the canoe a little to¬ 
wards the western shore, in order to increase the 
distance between them and thi-s new enemy. In the 
meantime they were reminded of the presence of 
those who pressed upon their rear, by wild and ex¬ 
ulting shouts. The stirring scene awakened even 
Munro from his apathy . 8 

8 In the first edition “dull apathy into which he was 
plunged by the weight of his misfortunes ” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


299 


“Let us make for the rocks on the main,” he said, 
with the mien of a tired soldier, “and give battle to 
the savages. God forbid that I, or those attached to 
me and mine, should ever trust again to the faith of 
any servant of the Louis’s!” 7 

“He who wishes to prosper in Indian warfare,” 
returned the scout, “must not be too proud to learn 
from the wit of a native. Lay her more along the 
land, Sagamore. We are doubling on the varlets, 
and perhaps they may try to strike our trail on the 
long calculation.” 

Hawkeye was not mistaken; for when the Hurons 
found their course was likely to throw them behind 
their chase, they rendered it less direct, until, by 
gradually bearing more and more obliquely, the two 
canoes were, ere long, gliding on parallel lines, with¬ 
in two hundred yards of each other. It now became 
entirely a trial of speed. So rapid was the progress 
of the light vessels, that the lake curled in their 
front, in miniature waves, and their motion became 
undulating by its own velocity. It was, perhaps, 
owing to this circumstance, in addition to the neces¬ 
sity of keeping every hand employed at the paddles, 
that the Hurons had not immediate recourse to their 
firearms. The exertions of the fugitives were too 
severe to continue long, and the pursuers had the 
advantage of numbers. Duncan observed with un¬ 
easiness that the scout began to look anxiously about 
him, - as if searching for some further means of as¬ 
sisting their flight. 

“Edge her a little more from the sun, Sagamore,” 
said the stubborn woodsman. “I see the knaves are 
sparing a man to the rifle. A single broken bone 
might lose us our scalps. Edge more from the sun 
and we will put the island between us.” 

’“Louises” in the first edition. See XVI, note 11. 



300 


The Last of the Mohicans 


The expedient was not without its use. A long, 
low island lay at a little distance before them, and 
as they closed with it, the chasing canoe was com¬ 
pelled to take a side opposite to that on which the 
pursued passed. The scout and his companions did 
not neglect this advantage, but the instant they 
were hid from observation by the bushes, they re¬ 
doubled efforts that before had seemed prodigious. 
The two canoes came round the last low point, like 
two coursers at the top of their speed, the fugitives 
taking the lead. This change had brought them 
nigher to each other, however, while it altered their 
relative positions. 

“You showed knowledge in the shaping of a 
birchen bark, Uncas, when you chose this from 
among the Huron canoes,” said the scout, smiling, 
apparently more in satisfaction at their superiority 
in the race, than from that prospect of final escape 
which now began to open a little upon them. “The 
imps have put all their strength again at the paddles, 
and we are to struggle for our scalps with bits of 
flattened wood, instead of clouded barrels and true 
eyes! A long stroke, and together, friends.” 

“They are preparing for a shot,” said Heyward, 
“and as we are in line with them, it can scarcely 
fail.” 

“Get you then into the bottom of the canoe,” re¬ 
turned the scout, “you and the Colonel. It will be 
so much taken from the size of the mark.” 

Heyward smiled, as he answered— 

“It would be but an ill example for the highest in 
rank to dodge while the warriors were under fire!” 

“Lord! Lord! that is now a white man's courage!” 
exclaimed the scout, “and like too many of his no¬ 
tions, not to be maintained by reason. Do you think 
the Sagamore, or Uncas, or even I, who am a man 


The Last of the Mohicans 


301 


without a cross, would deliberate about finding a 
cover in a scrimmage when an open body would do no 
good? For what have the Frenchers reared up their 
Quebec, if fighting is always to be done in the clear¬ 
ings ?” 

“All that you say is very true, my friend,” replied 
Heyward. “Still our customs must prevent us from 
doing as you wish.” 

A volley from the Hurons interrupted the discourse, 
and, as the bullets whistled about them, Duncan 
saw the head of Uncas turned, looking back at him¬ 
self and Munro. Notwithstanding the nearness of the 
enemy, and his own great personal danger, the coun¬ 
tenance of the young warrior expressed no other 
emotion, as the former was compelled to think, than 
amazement at finding men willing to encounter so 
useless an exposure. Chingachgook was probably bet¬ 
ter acquainted with the notions of white men, for 
he did not even cast a glance aside from the riveted 
look his eye maintained on the object by which he 
governed their course. A ball soon struck the light 
and polished paddle from the hands of the chief, and 
drove it through the air far in the advance. A shout 
arose from the Hurons, who seized the opportunity 
to fire another volley. Uncas described an arc in 
the water with his own blade, and as the canoe 
passed swiftly on, Chingachgook recovered his pad¬ 
dle, and flourishing it on high, he gave the war- 
whoop of the Mohicans, and then lent his own 
strength and skill again to the important risk. 

The clamorous sounds of “Le Gros Serpent!” “La 
Longue Carabine!” “Le Cerf Agile!” burst at once 
from the canoes behind, and seemed to give new zeal 
to the pursuers. The scout seized “Killdeer” in his 
left hand, and elevating it above his head, he shook 
it in triumph at his enemies. The savages answered 
the insult with a yell, and immediately another volley 


302 


The Last of the Mohicans 


succeeded. The bullets pattered along the lake, and 
one even pierced the bark of their little vessel. No 
perceptible motion could be discovered in the Mohi¬ 
cans during this critical moment, their rigid features 
expressing neither hope nor alarm; but the scout 
again turned his head, and laughing in his own silent 
manner, he said to Heyward—- 

“The knaves love to hear the sounds of their pieces; 
but the eye is not to be found among the Mingoes 
that can calculate a true range in a dancing canoe! 
You see the dumb devils have taken off a man to 
charge, and by the smallest measurement that can 
be allowed, we move three feet to their two!” 

Duncan, who was not altogether as easy under this 
nice estimate of distances as his companions, was 
glad to find, however, that owing to their superior 
dexterity, and the diversion among their enemies, 
they were very sensibly obtaining the advantage. The 
Hurons soon fired again, and a bullet struck the blade 
of Hawkeye’s paddle without injury. 

“That will do,” said the scout, examining the slight 
indentation with a curious eye. “It would not have 
cut the skin of an infant, much less of men, who, 
like us, have been blown upon by the heavens in their 
anger. Now Major, if you will try to use this piece 
of flattened wood, I’ll let ‘Killdeer’ take a part in the 
conversation.” 

Heyward seized the paddle, and applied himself to 
the work with an eagerness that supplied the place 
of skill, while Hawkeye was engaged in inspecting the 
priming of his rifle. The latter then took a swift aim, 
and fired. The Huron in the bows of the leading 
canoe had risen with a similar object, and he now 
fell backward, suffering his gun to escape from his 
hands into the water. In an instant, however, he 
recovered his feet, though his gestures were wild and 


The Last of the Mohicans 


303 


bewildered. At the same moment his companions 
suspended their efforts, and the chasing canoes clus¬ 
tered together, and became stationary. Chingachgook 
and Uncas profited by the interval to regain their 
wind, though Duncan continued to work with the 
most persevering industry. The father and son now 
cast calm but inquiring glances at each other, to learn 
if either had sustained any injury by the fire; for 
both well knew that no cry or exclamation would, in 
such a moment of necessity, have been permitted to 
betray the accident. A few large drops of blood were 
trickling down the shoulder of the Sagamore, who, 
when he perceived that the eyes of Uncas dwelt too 
long on the sight, raised some water in the hollow of 
his hand, and washing off the stain, was content to 
manifest, in this simple manner, the slightness of 
the injury. 

“Softly, softly, Major,” said the scout, who bv 
this time had reloaded his rifle. “We are a little 
too far already for a rifle to put forth its beauties, 
and you see yonder imps are holding a council. Let 
them come within striking distance—my eye may 
well be trusted in such a matter—and I will trail 
the varlets the length of the Horican, guaranteeing 
that not a shot of theirs shall, at the worst, more 
than break the skin, while ‘Killdeer’ shall touch 
the life twice in three times.” 

“We forget our errand,” returned the diligent 
Duncan. “For God’s sake let us profit by this ad¬ 
vantage, and increase our distance from the enemy.” 

“Give me my children,” said Munro hoarsely, 
“Trifle no longer with a father’s agony, but restore 
me my babes!” 

Long and habitual deference to the mandates of 
his superiors, had taught the scout the virtue of 
obedience. Throwing a last lingering glance at the 


304 


The Last of the Mohicans 


distant canoes, he laid aside his rifle, and relieving 
the wearied Duncan, resumed the paddle, which he 
wielded with sinews that never tired. His efforts 
were seconded by those of the Mohicans, and a 
very few mintites served to place such a sheet of 
water between them and their enemies that Heyward 
once more breathed freely. 

The lake now began to expand, and their route lay 
along a wide reach, that was lined, as before, by 
high and ragged mountains. But the islands were 
few, and easily avoided. The strokes of the paddles 
grew more measured and regular, while they who 
plied them continued their labors, after the close 
and deadly chase from which they had just relieved 
themselves, with as much coolness as though their 
speed had been tried in sport, rather than under 
such pressing, nay, almost desperate circumstances. 

Instead of following the western shore, whither 
their errand led them, the wary Mohican inclinsd 
his course more towards those hills, behind which 
Montcalm was known to have led his army into the 
formidable fortress of Ticonderoga. As the Hurons, 
to every appearance, had abandoned the pursuit, 
there was no apparent reason for this excess of 
caution. It was, however, maintained for hours, 
until they had reached a bay nigh the northern 
termination of the lake. Here the canoe was driven 
upon the beach, and the whole party landed. Hawk- 
eye and Heyward ascended an adjacent bluff, where 
the former, after considering the expanse of water 
beneath him attentively for many minutes, pointed 
out to the latter a small black object, hovering under 
a headland, at the distance of several miles. 

“Do you see it?” demanded the scout . 8 “Now, 

8 That he could see a canoe several miles away testifies 
to the keenness of the scout’s eyesight. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


305 


what would you account that spot, were you left 
alone to white experience to find your way through 
this wilderness?” 

“But for its distance and its magnitude, I should 
suppose it a bird. Can it be a living object?” 

“ ’Tis a canoe of good birchen bark, and paddled 
by fierce and crafty Mingoes, Though Providence 
has lent to those who inhabit the woods, eyes that 
would be needless to men in the settlements wherp 
there are inventions to assist the sight, yet no 
human organs can see all the dangers which at 
this moment circumvent us. These varlets pretend 
to be bent chiefly on their sun-down meal, but the 
moment it is dark, they will be on our trail, as true 
as hounds on the scent. We must throw them olf, 
or our pursuit of Le Renard Subtil may be given up. 
These lakes are useful at times, especially when 
the game takes the water,” continued the scout, 
gazing about him with a countenance of concern, 
“but they give no cover, except it be to fishes. 
God knows what the country might be, if the 
settlements should ever spread far from the two 
rivers. Both hunting and war would lose their 
beauty.” 

“Let us not delay a moment, without some good 
and obvious reason.” 

“I little like that smoke, which you may see worm¬ 
ing up along the rock above the canoe,” interrupted 
the abstracted scout. “My life on it, other eyes 
than ours see it and know its meaning . 9 Well, words 
will not mend the matter, and it is time that wf 
were doing.” 

Hawkeye moved away from the lookout, and de- 

9 Smoke was often used by the Indians as a means of 

signaling. They could so manage it as to make it give 
information to persons at a distance, 



306 


The Last of the Mohicans 


scended, musing profoundly, to the shore. He com 
municated the result of his observations to his 
companions, in Delaware, and a short and earnest 
consultation succeeded. When it terminated, the 
three instantly set about executing their new resolu¬ 
tions. 

The canoe was lifted from the water, and borne 
on the shoulders of the party. They proceeded into 
the wood, making as broad and obvious a trail as 
possible. They soon reached a water-course, which 
they crossed, and continued onward, until they came 
to an extensive and naked rock. At this point, 
where their footsteps might be expected to be no 
longer visible, they retraced their route to the brook, 
walking backwards, with the utmost care. They nov. 
followed the bed of the little stream to the lake, 
into which they immediately launched their canoe 
again. A low point concealed them from the head¬ 
land, and the margin of the lake was fringed for 
some distance with dense and overhanging bushes. 
Under the cover of these natural advantages, they 
toiled their way, with patient industry, until the 
scout pronounced that he believed it would be safe 
once more to land. 

The halt continued until evening rendered objects 
indistinct and uncertain to the eye. Then they re¬ 
sumed their route, and, favored by the darkness, 
pushed silently and vigorously towards the western 
shore. Although the rugged outline of the moun¬ 
tain, to which they were steering, presented no dis¬ 
tinctive marks to the eyes of Duncan, the Mohican 
entered the little haven he had selected with the 
confidence and accuracy of an experienced pilot. 

The boat was again lifted and borne into the 
woods, where it was carefully concealed under a 
pile of brush. The adventurers assumed their 


The Last ofthe Mohicans 


SO? 


arms and packs, and thescout announced to Munro 
and Heyward that he ad the Indians were at last 
in readiness to proceed 


CHAPTER XXI 


“If you find a man there, he shall die a flea’s death.” 

—Shakespeare, Merry Wives of Windsor , IV, ii. 

The party had landed on the border of a region 
that is, even to this day, less known to the inhabi¬ 
tants of the States than the deserts of Arabia, or 
the steppes of Tartary. It was the sterile and rugged 
district which separates the tributaries of Cham¬ 
plain from those of the Hudson, the Mohawk, and 
of the St. Lawrence. Since the period of our tale, 
the active spirit of the country has surrounded it 
with a belt of rich and thriving settlements, though 
none but the hunter or the savage is ever known, 
even now, to penetrate its rude and wild recesses. 

As Hawkeye and the Mohicans had, however, often 
traversed the mountains and valleys of this vast 
wilderness, they did not hesitate to plunge into its 
depths with the freedom of men accustomed to its 
privations and difficulties. For many hours the 
travelers toiled on their laborious way, guided by 
a star, or following the direction of some water¬ 
course, until the scout called a halt, and holding 
a short consultation with the Indians, they lighted 
their fire and made the usual preparations to pass 
the remainder of the night where they then were. 

Imitating the example, and emulating the confi¬ 
dence of their more experienced associates, Munro 
and Duncan slept without fear, if not without un¬ 
easiness. The dews were suffered to exhale, and the 
sun had dispersed the mists, and was shedding a 
strong and clear light in the forest, when the travel¬ 
ers resumed their journey. 

After proceeding a few miles, the progress of 
Hawkeye, who led the advance, became more de¬ 
liberate and watchful. He often stopped to ex- 
[ 308 ] 


The Last op the Mohicans 


309 


amine the trees; nor did he cross a rivulet without 
attentively considering the quantity, the velocity, 
and the color of its waters. Distrusting his own 
judgment, his appeals to the opinion of Chingach- 
gook were frequent and earnest. During one of 
these conferences, Heyward observed that Uncas 
stood a patient and silent, though, as he imagined, 
an interested listener. He was strongly tempted to 
address the young chief, and demand his opinion 
of their progress; but the calm and dignified de¬ 
meanor of the native induced him to believe that, 
like himself, the other was wholly dependent on the 
sagacity and intelligence of the seniors of the party. 
At last, the scout spoke in English, and at once ex¬ 
plained the embarrassment of their situation. 

“When I found that the home path of the Hurons 
run north,” he said, “it did not need the judgment 
of many long years to tell that they would follow 
the valleys, and keep atween the waters of the Hud¬ 
son and the Horican, until they might strike the 
springs of the Canada streams, which would lead them 
into the heart of the country of the Drenchers. Yet 
here we are, within a short range of the Scaroon , 1 
and not a sign of a trail have we crossed! Human 
natur is weak, and it is possible we may not have 
taken the proper scent.” 

“Heaven protect us from such an error!” exclaimed 
Duncan. “Let us retrace our steps, and examine 
as we go, with keener eyes. Has Uncas no counsel 
to offer in such a strait?” 

The young Mohican cast a glance at his father, 
but maintaining his quiet and reserved mien, he 
continued silent. Chingachgook had caught the 
look, and motioning with his hand, he bade him 
speak. The moment this permission was accorded, 


l Now called the Schroon. 



310 The Last of the Mohicans 

the countenance of Uncas changed from its grave 
composure to a gleam of intelligence and joy. Bound¬ 
ing forward like a deer he sprang up the side of a 
little declivity, a few rods in advance, and stood, 
exultingly, over a spot of fresh earth, that looked 
as though it had been recently upturned by the pas¬ 
sage of some heavy animal. The eyes of the whole 
party followed the unexpected movement, and read 
their success in the air of triumph that the youth 
assumed. 

“ ’Tis the trail!” exclaimed the scout, advancing 
to the spot. “The lad is quick of sight and keen 
of wit for his years.” 

“ ’Tis extraordinary that he should have withheld 
his knowledge so long,” muttered Duncan, at his 
elbow. 

“It would have been more wonderful had he 
spoken without a bidding. No, no. Your young 
white, who gathers his learning from books and can 
measure what he knows by the pages, may conceit 
that his knowledge, like his legs, outruns that of 
his father. But where experience is the master, 
the scholar is made to know the value of years, and 
respects them accordingly.” 

“See!” said Uncas, pointing north and south, at 
the evident marks of the broad trail on either side 
of him, “the dark-hair has gone toward the frost.” 

“Hound never ran on a more beautiful scent,” re¬ 
sponded the scout, dashing forward, at once, on the 
indicated route. “We are favored, greatly favored, 
and can follow with high noses. Aye, here are both 
your waddling beasts. This Huron travels like a 
white general. The fellow is stricken with a judg¬ 
ment , 2 and is mad! Look sharp for wheels, Saga 

2 As by Providence. A favorite conception in colonial 
New England. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


311 


more,” he continued, looking back, and laughing in 
his newly awakened satisfaction. “We shall soon 
have the fool journeying in a coach, and that with 
three of the best pair of eyes on the border in his 
rear.” 

The spirits of the scout, and the astonishing suc¬ 
cess of the chase, in which a circuitous distance 
of more than forty miles had been passed, did not 
fail to impart a portion of hope to the whole party . 3 
Their advance was rapid; and made with as much con¬ 
fidence as a traveler would proceed along a wide 
highway. If a rock, or a rivulet, or a bit of earth 
harder than common, severed the links of the clue 
they followed, the true eye of the scout recovered 
them at a distance, and seldom rendered the delay 
of a single moment necessary. Their progress was 
much facilitated by the certainty that Magua had 
found it necessary to journey through the valleys; a 
circumstance which rendered the general direction 
of the route sure. Nor had the Huron entirely neg¬ 
lected the arts uniformly practised by the natives, 
when retiring in front of an enemy. False trails, 
and sudden turnings, were frequent, wherever a 
brook, or a formation of the ground, rendered them 
feasible; but his pursuers were rarely deceived, and 
never failed to detect their error before they had 
lost either time or distance on the deceptive track. 

By the middle of the afternoon they had passed the 
Scaroon, and were following the route of the declin¬ 
ing sun. After descending an eminence to a low 
bottom, through which a swift stream glided, they 
suddenly came to a place where the party of Le 
Renard had made a halt. Extinguished brands were 
lying around a spring, the offals of a deer were scat¬ 
tered about the place, and the trees bore evident 

3 See XVIII, note 9, on Indian skill in following trails. 



312 


The Last of the Mohicans 


marks of having been browsed long and closely by 
the horses. At a little distance, Heyward discov¬ 
ered, and contemplated with tender emotion, the small 
bower under which, he was fain to believe that 
Cora and Alice had reposed. But while the earth 
was trodden, and the footsteps of both men and 
beasts were so plainly visible around the place, the 
trail appeared to have suddenly ended. 

It was easy to follow the tracks of the Narragan- 
setts, but they seemed only to have wandered without 
guides, or any other object than the pursuit of food. 
At length Uncas, who, with his father, had endeav¬ 
ored to trace the route of the horses, came upon a 
sign of their presence, that was quite recent. Be¬ 
fore following the clue, he communicated his suc¬ 
cess to his companions, and while the latter were cor. 
suiting on the circumstances, the youth reap¬ 
peared, leading the two fillies, with their saddles 
broken, and the housings soiled, as though they 
had been permitted to run at will for several days 

“What should this mean?” said Duncan, turning 
pale, and glancing his eyes around him, as if he 
feared the brush and leaves were about to give 
up some horrid secret. 

“That our march has come to a quick end, and that 
we are in an enemy’s country,” returned the scout. 
“Had the knave been pressed, and the gentle ones 
wanted horses to keep up with the party, he might 
have taken their scalps; but without an enemy at 
his heels, and with such rugged beasts as these, he 
would not have hurt a hair of their heads . 4 I know 
your thoughts, but shame be it to our color that yoi 

“Indian conduct toward captive women was very ex¬ 
emplary. This is the testimony of Heckewelder and other 
early historians. That they dropped their better code was 

owing to the example of the white men. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


313 


have a reason for them; but he who thinks that even 
a Mingo would ill-treat a woman unless it be to 
tomahawk her, knows nothing of Indian natur, or 
the laws of the woods. No, no; I have heard that 
the French Indians had come into these hills to 
hunt the moose, and we are getting within scent 
of their camp. Why should they not? The morning 
and evening guns of Ty may be heard any day among 
these mountains; for the Frenchers are running 
a new line atween the provinces of the king and 
the Canadas. It is true that the horses are here, 
but the Hurons are gone. Let us, then, hunt for the 
path by which they departed.” 

Hawkeye and the Mohicans now applied them¬ 
selves to their task in good earnest. A circle of 
a few hundred feet in circumference was drawn, and 
each of the party took a segment for his portion. 
The examination, however, resulted in no discovery. 
The impressions of footsteps were numerous, but 
they all appeared like those of men who had wan¬ 
dered about the spot, without any design to quit 
it. Again the scout and his companions made the 
circuit of the halting place, each slowly following 
the other, until they assembled in the center once 
more, no wiser than when they had started. 

“Such cunning is not without its deviltry/' ex 
claimed Hawkeye, when he met the disappointed 
looks of his assistants. 

“We must get down to it, Sagamore, beginning at 
the spring and going over the ground by inches. 
The Huron shall never brag in his tribe that he 
has a foot which leaves no print.” 

Setting the example himself, the scout engaged in 
the scrutiny with renewed zeal. Not a leaf was left 
unturned. The sticks were removed, and the stones 
lifted; for Indian cunning was known frequently 


314 


The Last of the Mohicans 


to adopt these objects as covers with the utmost 
patience and industry, to conceal each footstep as 
they proceeded. Still no discovery was made. At 
length Uncas, whose activity had enabled him to 
achieve his portion of the task the soonest, raked the 
earth across the turbid little rill which ran from the 
spring, and diverted its course into another channel. 
So soon as its narrow bed below the dam was dry 
he stooped over it with keen and curious eyes. A 
cry of exultation immediately announced the success 
of the young warrior. The whole party crowded io 
the spot where Uncas pointed out the impression of 
a moccasin in the moist alluvion . 5 

“The lad will be an honor to his people,” said 
Hawkeye, regarding the trail with as much admira¬ 
tion as a naturalist would expend on the tusk of 
a mammoth or the rib of a mastodon. “Aye, and a 
thorn in the sides of the Hurons. Yet that is not 
the footstep of an Indian! The weight is too much 
on the heel, and the toes are squared, as though 
one of the French dancers had been in, pigeon- 
winging his tribe! Run back, Uncas, and bring 
me the size of the singer’s foot. You will find 
beautiful print of it just opposite yon rock, ag’in the 
hillside.” 

While the youth was engaged in this commission, 
the scout and Chingachgook were attentively con¬ 
sidering the impressions. The measurements agreed, 
and the former unhesitatingly pronounced that the 
footstep was that of David, who had once more 
been made to exchange his shoes for moccasins. 

“I can now read the whole of it, as plainly as if 
I had seen the arts of Le Subtil,” he added. “The 

6 See the Appendix for Mark Twain’s criticism of this 
passage. See also Professor W. L. Phelps’s comments on 
Mark Twain’s essay. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


315 


singer being a man whose gifts lay chiefly in his 
throat and feet, was made to go first, and the others 
have trod in his steps, imitating their formation.” 

“But,” cried Duncan, “I see no signs of—” 

“The gentle ones,” interrupted the scout. “The 
varlet has found a way to carry them, until he sup¬ 
posed he had thrown the followers off the scent. My 
life on it we see their pretty little feet again before 
many rods go by.” 

The whole party now proceeded, following the 
course of the rill, keeping anxious eyes on the regu¬ 
lar impressions. The water soon flowed into its bed 
again, but watching the ground on either side, the 
foresters pursued their way, content with knowing 
that the trail lay beneath. More than half a mile 
was passed before the rill rippled close to the base 
of an extensive and dry rock. Here they paused to 
make sure that the Hurons had not quitted the 
water. 

It was fortunate they did so. For the quid 
and active Uncas soon found the impression of a 
foot on a bunch of moss, where it would seem an 
Indian had inadvertently trodden. Pursuing the 
direction given by this discovery, he entered the 
neighboring thicket, and struck the trail as fresh 
and obvious as it had been before they reached the 
spring. Another shout announced the good fortune 
of the youth to his companions, and at once termi¬ 
nated the search. 

“Aye, it has been planned with Indian judgment,' 
said the scout, when the party was assembled around 
the place, “and would have blinded white eyes.” 

“Shall we proceed?” demanded Heyward. 

“Softly, softly. We know our path; but it is good 
to examine the formation of things. This is my 
schooling, Major; and if one neglects the book, there 


316 


The Last of the Mohicans 


is little chance of learning from the open hand of 
Providence. 6 All is plain but one thing, which ife 
the manner that the knave contrived to get the 
gentle ones along the blind trail. Even a Huron 
would be too proud to let their tender feet touch 
the water.” 

“Will this assist in explaining the difficulty?” said 
Heyward, pointing toward the fragments of a sort 
of handbarrow, that had been rudely constructed of 
boughs, and bound together with withes, and which 
now seemed carelessly cast aside as useless. 

“ ’Tis explained!” cried the delighted Hawkeye. “If 
them varlets have passed a minute, they have spent 
hours in striving to fabricate a lying end to their 
trail! Well, I’ve known them to waste a day in the 
same manner, to as little purpose. Here we have 
three pair of moccasins, and two of little feet. It is 
amazing that any mortal beings can journey on limbs 
so small! Pass me the thong of buckskin, Uncas, 
and let me take the length of this foot. By the 
Lord, it is no longer than a child’s, and yet the 
maidens are tall and comely. That Providence is 
partial in its gifts, for its own wise reasons, the 
best and most contented of us must allow.” 

“The tender limbs of my daughters are unequal 
to these hardships,” said Munro, looking at the 
light footsteps of his children, with a parent’s love. 
“We shall find their fainting forms in this desert.” 

“Of that there is little cause of fear,” returned 
the scout, slowly shaking his head. “This is a firm 
and straight, though a light step, and not over long. 
See, the heel has hardly touched the ground; and 
there the dark-hair has made a little jump, from 

°In the first edition this read, “and if one neglects the 
book, there is no better chance than yon idle boy has 
with an old gal.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


317 


root to root. No, no; my knowledge for it, neither 
of them was nigh fainting, hereaway. Now, the 
singer was beginning to be foot-sore and leg-weary, 
as is plain by his trail. There, you see, he slipped; 
here he has traveled wide, and tottered; and there, 
again, it looks as though he journeyed on snow 
shoes. Aye, aye, a man who uses his throat alto¬ 
gether, can hardly give his legs a proper training.” 

From such undeniable testimony did the-practised 
woodsman arrive at the truth, with nearly as much 
certainty and precision as if he had been a witness 
of all those events which his ingenuity so easily eluci 
dated. Cheered by these assurances, and satis¬ 
fied by a reasoning that was so obvious, while L 
was so simple, the party resumed its course, after 
making a short halt, to take a hurried repast . 7 

When the meal was ended, the scout cast a glance 
upwards at the setting sun, and pushed forward with 
a rapidity that compelled Heyward and the still 
vigorous Munro to exert all their muscles to equal. 
Their route now lay along the bottom which has al¬ 
ready been mentioned. As the Hurons had made no 
further efforts to conceal their footsteps, the prog¬ 
ress of the pursuers was no longer delayed by un¬ 
certainty. Before an hour had elapsed, the speed 
of Hawkeye sensibly abated, and his head, instead of 
maintaining its former direct and forward look, be¬ 
gan to turn suspiciously from side to side, as if 
he were conscious of approaching danger. He soon 
stopped again, and waited for the whole party to 
come up. 

“I scent the Hurons,” he said, speaking to the 
Mohicans. “Yonder is open sky through the tree 
tops, and we are getting too nigh their encampment. 
Sagamore, you will take the hillside, to the right; 

7 In the first edition “a hurried and slight repast.” 



318 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Uncas will bend along the brook to the left, while 
I will try the trail. If anything should happen, the 
call will be three croaks of a crow. I saw one ot 
the birds fanning himself in the air just beyond 
the dead oak—another sign that we are touching an 
encampment/’ 

The Indians departed their several ways, without 
deeming any reply necessary, while Hawkeye cau¬ 
tiously proceeded with the two gentlemen. Heyward 
soon pressed to the side of the guide, eager to catch 
an early glimpse of those enemies he had pursued 
with so much toil and anxiety. His companion tolo 
him to steal to the edge of the woods, which as usual 
was fringed with a thicket, and wait his coming, for 
he wished to examine certain suspicious signs a 
little on one side. Duncan obeyed, and soon found 
himself in a situation to command a view which he 
soon found as extraordinary as it was novel. 

The trees of many acres had been felled, and the 
glow of the mild summer’s evening had fallen or 
the clearing, in beautiful contrast to the light gray 
of the forest. A short distance from the place 
where Duncan stood, the stream had seemingly ex¬ 
panded into a little lake, covering most of the low¬ 
land, from mountain to mountain. The water fell 
out of this wide basin, in a cataract so irregular 
and gentle, that it appeared rather to be the work 
of human hands than fashioned by nature. A hun¬ 
dred earthen dwellings stood on the margin of the 
lake, and even in its water, as though the latter had 
flowed its usual banks. Their rounded roofs, ad¬ 
mirably moulded for defense against the weather, 
denoted more of industry and foresight than the 
natives were wont to bestow on their regular habi¬ 
tations, much less on those they occupied for the 
temporary purposes of hunting and war. In short, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


319 


the whole village or town, whichever it might be 
termed, possessed more of method and neatness of 
execution, than the white man had been accustomed 
to believe belonged, ordinarily, to the Indian habits. 
It appeared, however, to be deserted. At least, so 
thought Duncan for many minutes; but at length, 
he fancied, he discovered several human forms, ad¬ 
vancing toward him on all fours, and apparently 
dragging in their train some heavy, and, as he wae 
quick to apprehend, some formidable engine. Just 
then a few dark looking heads gleamed out of the 
dwellings, and the place seemed suddenly ,alive 
with beings, which, 8 however, glided from cover tc 
cover so swiftly, as to allow no opportunity of ex¬ 
amining their humors or pursuits. Alarmed at these 
suspicious and inexplicable movements, he was about 
to attempt the signal of the crows, when the rust¬ 
ling of leaves at hand drew his eyes in another di¬ 
rection. 

The young man started, and recoiled a few paces 
instinctively, when he found himself within a hun¬ 
dred yards of a strange Indian. Recovering his 
recollection on the instant, instead of sounding an 
alarm, which might prove fatal to himself, he re¬ 
mained stationary, an attentive observer of the 
other’s motions. 

An instant of calm observation served to assure 
Duncan that he was undiscovered. The native, like 
himself, seemed occupied in considering the low 
dwellings of the village, and the stolen movements 
of its inhabitants. It was impossible to discover 
the expression of his features through the grotesque 
mask of paint under which they were concealed; 
though Duncan fancied it was rather melancholy 
than savage. His head was shaved as usual, with 


“Present usage would have “being that” or “being who.” 



320 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the exception of the crown, from whose tuft two 
or three faded feathers from a hawk’s wing were 
loosely dangling. A ragged calico mantle half en¬ 
circled his body, while his nether garment was com¬ 
posed of an ordinary shirt, the sleeves of which 
were made to perform the office that is usually 
executed by a much more commodious arrangement. 
His legs were bare and sadly cut by thorns and 
briers. The feet were, however, covered with a 
pair of good bear-skin moccasins. Altogether the 
appearance of the individual was forlorn and miser¬ 
able. 

Duncan was still curiously observing the person of 
his neighbor, when the scout stole silently and cau¬ 
tiously to his side. 

“You see we have reached their settlement, or en¬ 
campment,” whispered the young man, “and Lere is 
one of the savages himself in a very embarrassing 
position for our further movements.” 

Hawkeye started, and dropped his rifle, when di¬ 
rected by the finger of his companion, the stranger 
came under his view. Then lowering the dangerous 
muzzle, he stretched forward his long neck, as if to 
assist a scrutiny that was already intensely keen. 

“The imp is not a Huron,” he said, “nor of any of 
the Canada tribes! and yet you see by his clothes the 
knave has been plundering a white. Aye, Montcalm 
has raked the woods for his inroad, and a whooping, 
murdering set of varlets has he gathered together! 
Can you see where he has put his rifle or his bow?” 

“He appears to have no arms; nor does he seem to 
be viciously inclined. Unless he communicate the 
alarm to his fellows, who, as you see, are dodging 
about the water, we have but little to fear from him.” 

The scout turned to Heyward, and regarded him 
with unconcealed amazement. Then opening wide his 


The Last of the Mohicans 


321 




mouth, he indulged in unrestrained and heartfelt 
laughter, though in that silent and peculiar manner 
which danger had so long taught him to practise. 

Repeating the words, “fellows who are dodging 
about the water!” he added, “So much for schooling 
and passing a boyhood in the settlements! The knave 
has long legs though, and shall not be trusted. Do 
you keep him under your rifle, while I creep in behind 
through the bush, and take him alive. Fire on no 
account!” 

Heyward had already permitted his companion to 
bury part of his person in the thicket, when, stretch¬ 
ing forth his arm, he arrested him in order to ask— 
“If I see you in danger, may I not risk a shot?” 
Hawkeye regarded him a moment, like one who 
knew not how to take the question; then, nodding his 
head, he answered, still laughing, though inaudibly— 
“Fire a whole platoon, Major.” 

In the next moment he was concealed by the leaves. 
Duncan waited several minutes in feverish impatience, 
before he caught another glimpse of the scout. Then 
he reappeared, creeping along the earth, from which 
his dress was hardly distinguishable, directly in the 
rear of his intended captive. Having reached within a 
few yards of the latter, he rose to his feet silently 
and slowly. At that instant several loud blows were 
struck on the water, and Duncan turned his eyes just 
in time to perceive that a hundred dark forms were 
plunging in a body into the troubled little sheet. Grasp¬ 
ing his rifle, his looks were again bent on the Indian 
near him. Instead of taking the alarm, the uncon¬ 
scious savage stretched forward his neck, as if he also 
watched the movements about the gloomy lake, with 
a sort of silly curiosity. In the meantime, the up¬ 
lifted hand of Hawkeye was above him; but, without 
any apparent reason, it was withdrawn, and its owner 


322 


The Last of the Mohicans 


indulged in another long, though still silent, tit of 
merriment. When the peculiar and hearty laughter 
of Hawkeye was ended, instead of grasping his victim 
by the throat, he tapped him lightly on the shoulder, 
and exclaimed aloud— 

“How now, friend! have you a mind to teach the 
beavers to sing?” 

“Even so,” was the ready answer. “It would seem 
that the Being that gave them power to improve his 
gifts so well, would not deny them voices to proclaim 
his praise.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


Bot . — “Are we all met?” 

Qui. — “Pat — pat; and here’s a marvelous 
Convenient place for our rehearsal.” 

— Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, III, i. 

The reader may better imagine, than we describe, 
the surprise of Heyward. His lurking Indians were 
suddenly converted into four-footed beasts; his lake 
into a beaver pond; his cataract into a dam, con¬ 
structed by those industrious and ingenious quad¬ 
rupeds; and a suspected enemy into his tried friend, 
David Gamut, the master of psalmody. The presence 
of the latter created so many unexpected hopes rela¬ 
tive to the sisters that, without a moment’s hesitation, 
the young man broke out of his ambush, and sprang 
forward to join the two principal actors in the scene. 

The merriment of Hawkeye was not easily ap¬ 
peased. Without ceremony, and with a rough hand, 
he twirled the supple Gamut around on his heel, and 
more than once affirmed that the Hurons had done 
themselves great credit in the fashion of his costume. 
Then seizing the other, he squeezed it with a grip 
that brought tears into the eyes of the placid David, 
and wished him joy of his new condition. 

“You were about opening your throat-practysings 
among the beavers, were ye?” he said. “The cunning 
devils know half the trade already, for they beat the 
time with their tails, as you heard just now; and in 
good time it was, too, or ‘Killdeer’ might have sound¬ 
ed the first note among them. I have known greater 
fools, who could read and write, than an experienced 
old beaver: but as for squalling, the animals are born 
dumb! What think yoii of such a song as this?” 

David shut his sensitive ears, and even Heyward, 
apprised as he was of the nature of the cry, looked 
[ 323 ] 


324 


The Last of the Mohicans 


upward in quest of the bird, as the cawing of a crow 
rang in the air about them. 

“See,” continued the laughing scout, as he pointed 
towards the remainder of the party, who, in obedience 
to the signal, were already approaching. “This is 
music which has its natural virtues; it brings two 
good rifles to my elbow, to say nothing of the knives 
and tomahawks. But we see that you are safe. Now 
tell us what has become of the maidens.” 

“They are captives to the heathen,” said David, 
“and, though greatly troubled in spirit, enjoying com¬ 
fort and safety in the body.” 

“Both?” demanded the breathless Heyward. 

“Even so. Though our wayfaring has been sore, 
and our sustenance scanty, we have had little other 
cause of complaint except the violence done our feel¬ 
ings by being thus led in captivity into a far land.” 

“Bless ye for these very words!” exclaimed the 
trembling Munro. “I shall then receive my babes spot¬ 
less and angel-like as I lost them!” 

“I know not that their delivery is at hand,” re¬ 
turned the doubting David. “The leader of these sav¬ 
ages is possessed of an evil spirit, that no power short 
of Omnipotence can tame. I have tried him sleeping 
and waking, but neither sounds nor language seem to 
touch his soul.” 

“Where is the knave?” bluntly interrupted the 
scout. 

“He hunts the moose today with his young men; 
and tomorrow, as I hear, they pass further into these 
forests, and nigher to the borders of Canada. The 
elder maiden is conveyed to a neighboring people, 
whose lodges are situated beyond yonder black pin¬ 
nacle of rock; while the younger is detained among 
the women of the Hurons, whose dwellings are but 
two short miles hence, on a table land, where the fire 


The Last of the Mohicans 


325 


has done the office of the axe, and prepared the place 
for their reception.” 

“Alice, my gentle Alice!” murmured Heyward. “She 
has lost the consolation of her sister’s presence!” 

“Even so. But as far as praise and thanksgiving in 
psalmody can temper the spirit in affliction, she has 
not suffered.” 

“Has she then a heart for music?” 

“Of the graver and more solemn character; though 
it must be acknowledged that, in spite of all my en¬ 
deavors, the maiden weeps oftener than she smiles. At 
such moments I forbear to press the holy songs; but 
there are many sweet and comfortable periods of sa'.i i • 
factory communication, when the ears of the savor i 
are astounded with the upliftings of our voices. ’ 

“And why are you permitted to go at large, r.h- 
watched?” 

David composed his features into what he intended 
should express an air of modest humility, before he 
meekly replied— 

“Little be the praise to such a worm as I. But, 
though the power of psalmody was suspended in the 
terrible business of that field of blood through which 
we passed, it has recovered its influence even over the 
souls of the heathen, and I am suffered to go and 
come at will.” 

The scout laughed, and tapping his own forehead 
significantly, he perhaps explained the singular indul¬ 
gence more satisfactorily when he said— 

“The Indians never harm a non-composser. 1 But 
why, when the path lay open before your eyes, did 
you not strike back on your own trail (it is not so 
blind as that which a squirrel would make), and bring 
in the tidings to Edward?” 

The scout, remembering only his own sturdy and 


1 From the Latin non compos mentis, see Glossary. 



326 


The Last of the Mohicans 


iron nature, had probably exacted a task that David, 
under no circumstances, could have performed. But, 
without entirely losing the meekness of his air, the 
latter was content to answer— 

“Though my soul would rejoice to visit the habita¬ 
tions of Christendom once more, my feet would rather 
follow the tender spirits intrusted to my keeping, 
even into the idolatrous province of the Jesuits, than 
take one step backward, while they pined in captivity 
and sorrow.” 

Though the figurative language of David was not 
very intelligible, the sincere and steady expression of 
his eye, and the glow on his honest countenance, were 
not easily mistaken. Uncas pressed closer to his side, 
and regarded the speaker with a look of commenda¬ 
tion, while his father expressed his satisfaction by 
the ordinary pithy exclamation of approbation. The 
scout shook his head as he rejoined— 

“The Lord never intended that the man should place 
all his endeavors in his throat, to the neglect of other 
and better gifts! But he has fallen into the hands of 
some silly woman, when he should have been gathering 
his education under a blue sky, among the beauties of 
the forest. Here, friend; I did intend to kindle a fire 
with this tooting whistle of thine; but as you value 
the thing, take it, and blow your best on it!” 

Gamut received his pitch-pipe with as strong an ex¬ 
pression of pleasure as he believed compatible with 
the grave functions he exercised. After essaying its 
virtues repeatedly, in contrast with his own voice, and 
satisfying himself that none of its melody was lost, 
he made a very serious demonstration towards achiev¬ 
ing a few stanzas of one of the longest effusions in 
the little volume so often mentioned. 

Heyward, however, hastily interrupted his pious 
purpose, by continuing questions concerning the past 


The Last of the Mohicans 


327 


and present condition of his fellow-captives, and in a 
manner more methodical than had been permitted by 
his feelings in the opening of their interview. David, 
though he regarded his treasure with longing eyes, 
was constrained to answer: especially as the venerable 
father took a part in the interrogatories, with an in¬ 
terest too imposing to be denied. Nor did the scout 
fail to throw in a pertinent inquiry, whenever a fitting 
occasion presented. In this manner, though with fre¬ 
quent interruptions, which were filled with certain 
threatening sounds from the recovered instrument, 
the pursuers were put in possession of such leading 
circumstances as were likely to prove useful in ac¬ 
complishing their great and engrossing object—the 
recovery of the sisters. The narrative of David was 
simple, and the facts but few. 

Magua had waited on the mountain until a safe 
moment to retire presented itself, when he had de¬ 
scended and taken the route along the western side of 
the Horican, in the direction of the Canadas. As the 
subtle Huron was familiar with the paths, and well 
knew there was no immediate danger of pursuit, their 
progress had been moderate, and far from fatiguing. 
It appeared, from the unembellished statement of 
David, that his own presence had been rather endured 
than desired: though even Magua had not been entirely 
exempt from that veneration with which the Indians 
regard those whom the Great Spirit has visited in 
their intellects . 2 At night, the utmost care had been 
taken of the captives, both to prevent injury from the 
damps of the woods, and to guard against an escape. 
At the spring, the horses were turned loose, as has 
been seen; and notwithstanding the remoteness and 

^Weak-minded persons. Many early historians bear 
testimony to the considerate conduct of the Indians towards 
the mentally feeble. 



328 


The Last of the Mohicans 


length of their trail, the artifices already named were 
resorted to, .in order to cut off every clue to their place 
of retreat. On their arrival at the encampment of his 
people, Magua, in obedience to a policy seldom departed 
from, separated his prisoners. Cora had been sent to 
a tribe that temporarily occupied an adjacent valley, 
though David was far too ignorant of the customs and 
history, of the natives, to oe able to declare anything 
satisfactory concerning their name or character. He 
only knew that they had not engaged in the late ex¬ 
pedition against William Henry; that, like the Hurons 
themselves, they were allies of Montcalm; and that 
they maintained an amicable, though a watchful, in¬ 
tercourse with the warlike and savage people, whom 
chance had for a time brought in such close and dis¬ 
agreeable contact with themselves. 

The Mohicans and the scout listened to his inter¬ 
rupted and imperfect narrative, with an interest that 
obviously increased as he proceeded, and it was while 
attempting to explain the pursuits of the community, 
in which Cora was detained, that the latter abruptly 
demanded— 

“Did you see the fashion of their knives? Were they 
of English or French formation?” 

“My thoughts were bent on no such vanities, but 
rather mingled in consolation with those of the maid¬ 
ens.” 

“The time may come when you will not consider 
the knife of a savage such a despisable vanity,” re 
turned the scout, with a strong expression of con¬ 
tempt for the other’s dullness. “Had they held their 
corn-feast—or can you say anything of the totems of 
the tribe?” 

“Of corn, we had many and plentiful feasts; for the 
grain, being in the milk, is both sweet to the mouth 
and comfortable to the stomach. Of totem, I know not 


The Last of the Mohicans 


329 


the meaning; but if it appertaineth in any wise to the 
art of Indian music, it need not be inquired after at 
their hands. They never join their voices in praise, 
and it would seem that they are among the profanest 
of the idolatrous.” 

“Therein you belie the nature of an Indian. Even 
the Mingo adores but the true and living God. ’Tis a 
wicked fabrication of the whites, and I say it to the 
shame of my color, that would make the warrior bow 
down before images of his own creation. It is true, 
they endeavor to make truces with the wicked one— 
as who would not with an enemy he cannot conquer! 
—but they look up for favor and assistance to the 
Great and Good Spirit only/' 

“It may be so,” said David. “But I have seen 
strange and fantastic images drawn in their paint, of 
which their admiration and care savored of spiritual 
pride; especially one, and that too a foul and loath¬ 
some object.” 

“Was it a sarpent?” quickly demanded the scout. 

“Much the same. It was in the likeness of an ab¬ 
ject and creeping tortoise!” 

“Hugh!” exclaimed both the attentive Mohicans in 
a breath; while the scout shook his head with the air 
of one who had made an important, but by no means 
pleasing discovery. Then the father spoke, in the 
language of the Delawares, and with a calmness and 
dignity that instantly arrested the attention even of 
those to whom his words were unintelligible. His ges¬ 
tures were impressive, and at times energetic. Once he 
lifted his arm on high, and as it descended, the action 
threw aside the folds of his light mantle, a finger 
resting on his breast, as if he would enforce his mean¬ 
ing by the attitude. Duncan’s eyes followed the move¬ 
ment, and he perceived that the animal just mentioned 
was beautifully, though faintly, worked in a blue tint, 


330 


The Last of the Mohicans 


on the swarthy breast of the chief. All that he had 
ever heard of the violent separation of the vast tribes 
of the Delawares, rushed across his mind, and he 
awaited the proper moment to speak, with a suspense 
that was rendered nearly intolerable by his interest 
in the stake. His wish, however, was anticipated by 
the scout, who turned from his red friend, saying— 

“We have found that which may be good or evil to 
us, as Heaven disposes. The Sagamore is of the high 
blood of the Delawares, and is the great chief of 
their Tortoises! That some of this stock are among 
the people of whom the singer tells us, is plain, by 
his words: and had he but spent half the breath in 
prudent questions, that he has blown away in making 
a trumpet of his throat, we might have known how 
many warriors they numbered. It is, altogether, a 
dangerous path 3 we move in; for a friend whose face 
is turned from you, often bears a bloodier mind than 
the enemy who seeks your scalp!” 

“Explain,” said Duncan. 

“’Tis a long and melancholy tradition, and one I lit¬ 
tle like to think of; for it is not to be denied, that the 
evil has been mainly done by men with white skins. 
But it has ended in turning the tomahawk of brother 
against brother, and brought the Mingo and the Dela¬ 
ware to travel in the same path.” 

“You then suspect it is a portion of that people 
among whom Cora resides?” 

The scout nodded his head in assent, though he 
seemed anxious to waive the further discussion of a 
subject that appeared painful. The impatient Duncan 
now made several hasty and desperate propositions 
to attempt the release of the sisters. Munro seemed 
to shake off his apathy, and listened to the wild 

3 The Indian tribes were turned against each other by 
the machinations of the white men, 



The Last of the Mohicans 


331 


schemes of the young man with a deference that his 
gray hairs and reverend years should have denied. 
But the scout, after suffering the ardor of the lover 
to expend itself a little, found means to convince him 
of the folly of precipitation, in a matter that would 
require their coolest judgment and utmost fortitude. 

“It would be well,” he added, “to let this man go in 
again, as usual, and for him to tarry in the lodges, 
giving notice to the gentle ones of our approach, until 
we call him out, by signal, to consult. You know the 
cry of a crow, friend, from the whistle of the whip¬ 
poorwill?” 

“ ’Tis a pleasing bird,” returned David, “and has a 
soft and melancholy note! though the time is rather 
quick and ill-measured.” 

“He speaks of the wish-ton-wish,” said the scout. 
“Well, since you like his whistle, it shall be your sig¬ 
nal. Remember, then, when you hear the whippoor¬ 
will’s call three times repeated, you are to come into 
the bushes where the bird might be supposed—” 

“Stop,” interrupted Heyward. “I will accompany 
him.” 

“You!” exclaimed the astonished Hawkeye. “Are 
you tired of seeing the sun rise and set?” 

“David is a living proof that the Hurons can be 
merciful.” 

“Aye, but David can use his throat, as no man in 
his sense would pervart the gift.” 

“I too can play the madman, the fool, the hero; in 
short, any or everything to rescue her I love. Name 
your objections no longer: I am resolved.” 

Hawkeye regarded the young man a moment in 
speechless amazement. But Duncan, who, in deference 
to the other’s skill and services, had hitherto submitted 
somewhat implicitly to his dictation, now assumed the 
superior, with a loftiness of manner that was not 


332 


The Last of the Mohicans 


easily resisted. He waved his hands, in sign of his 
dislike to all remonstrance, and then, in more tem¬ 
pered language, he continued— 

“You have the means of disguise; change me; paint 
me, too, if you will; in short, alter me to anything— 
a fool.” 

“It is not for one like me to say that he who is al¬ 
ready formed by so powerful a hand as Providence, 
stands in need of a change,” muttered the discontented 
scout. “When you send your parties abroad in war, 
you find it prudent at least to arrange the marks and 
places of encampment, in order that they who fight on 
your side may know when and where to expect a 
friend?” 

“Listen,” interrupted Duncan, “you have heard from 
this faithful follower of the captives that the Indians 
are of two tribes, if not of different nations. With 
one, whom you think to be a branch of the Delawares, 
is she you call the ‘dark-hair’; the other, and younger 
of the ladies, is undeniably with our declared enemies, 
the Hurons. It becomes my youth and rank to at¬ 
tempt the latter adventure. While you, therefore, are 
negotiating with your friends for the release of one 
of the sisters, I will effect that of the other, or die.” 

The awakened spirit of the young soldier gleamed in 
his eyes, and his form dilated and became imposing 
under its influence. Hawkeye, though too much accus¬ 
tomed to Indian artifices not to foresee all the danger 
of the experiment, knew not well how to combat this 
sudden resolution. Perhaps there was something in 
the proposal that suited his own hardy nature, and 
that secret love of desperate adventure, which had in¬ 
creased with his daily experience, until hazard and 
danger had become, in some measure, necessary to 
the enjoyment of his existence. Instead of continuing 
to oppose the scheme of Duncan, his humor suddenly 
altered, and he lent himself to its execution. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


333 


“Come,” he said, with a good-humored smile, “the 
buck that will take to the water must be headed, and 
not followed. Chingachgook has as many different 
paints as the engineer officer’s wife, who takes down 
nature on scraps of paper, making the mountains look 
like cocks of rusty hay, and placing the blue sky in 
reach of your hand. The Sagamore can use them too. 
Sit yourself on the log; and my life on it, he can soon 
make a natural fool of you, and that well to your lik¬ 
ing.” 

Duncan complied; and the Mohican, who had been 
an attentive listener to the discourse, readily under¬ 
took the office. Long practised in all the subtle arts 
of his race, he drew, with great dexterity and quick¬ 
ness, the fantastic shadow that the natives were accus¬ 
tomed to consider as the evidence of a friendly and 
jocular disposition. Every line that could possibly 
be interpreted into a secret inclination for war, was 
carefully avoided; while, on the other hand, he studied 
those conceits that might be construed into amity. 

In short, he entirely sacrificed every appearance of 
the warrior to the masquerade of a buffoon. Such ex¬ 
hibitions were not uncommon among the Indians; and 
as Duncan was already sufficiently disguised in his 
dress, there certainly did exist some reason for believ¬ 
ing that, with his knowledge of French, he might 
pass for a juggler from Ticonderoga, straggling 
among the allied and friendly tribes. 

When he was thought to be sufficiently painted, the 
scout gave him much friendly advice; concerted sig¬ 
nals, and appointed the place where they should meet, 
in the event of mutual success. The parting between 
Munro and his young friend was more melancholy; 
still, the former submitted to the separation with an 
indifference that his warm and honest nature would 
never have permitted in a more healthful state of mind. 


334 


The Last of the Mohicans 


The scout led Heyward aside, and acquainted him with 
his intention to leave the veteran in some safe en¬ 
campment, in charge of Chingachgook, while he and 
Uncas pursued their inquiries among the people they 
had reason to believe were Delawares. Then renewing 
his cautions and advice, he concluded by saying, with a 
solemnity and warmth of feeling with which Duncan 
was deeply touched— 

“And now God bless you! You have shown a spirit 
that I like; for it is the gift of youth, more especially 
one of warm blood and a stout heart. But believe the 
warning of a man, who has reason to know all he says 
to be true. You will have occasion for your best man¬ 
hood, and for a sharper wit, than what is to be gath¬ 
ered in books, afore you outdo the cunning, or get the 
better of the courage of a Mingo! God bless you! If 
the Hurons master your scalp, rely on the promise of 
one who has two stout warriors to back him—they 
shall pay for their victory, with a life for every hair 
it holds! I say, young gentleman, may Providence bless 
our undertaking, which is altogether for good; and 
remember, that to outwit the knaves, it is lawful to 
practise things that may not be naturally the gift of a 
white-skin.” 

Duncan shook his worthy and reluctant associate 
warmly by the hand, once more recommended his aged 
friend to his care, and returning his good wishes, he 
motioned to David to proceed. Hawkeye gazed after 
the high-spirited and adventurous young man for sev¬ 
eral moments, in open admiration; then shaking his 
head, doubtingly, he turned, and led his own division 
of the party into the concealment of the forest. 

The route taken by Duncan and David lay directly 
across the clearing of the beavers, and along the 
margin of their pond. When the former found him¬ 
self alone with one so simple, and so little qualified to 
render any assistance in desperate emergencies, he 


The Last of the Mohicans 


335 


first began to be sensible of the difficulties of the task 
he had undertaken. The faded light increased the 
gloominess of the bleak and savage wilderness, that 
stretched so far on every side of him, and there was 
even a fearful character in the stillness of those little 
huts, that he knew were so abundantly peopled. It 
struck him, as he gazed at the admirable structures, 
and the wonderful precautions of their sagacious in¬ 
mates, that even the brutes of these vast wilds were 
possessed of an instinct nearly commensurate with his 
own reason , 4 and he could not reflect, without anxiety, 
on the unequal contest that he had so rashly courted. 
Then came the glowing image of Alice, her distress, 
her actual danger; and all the peril of his situation was 
forgotten. Cheering David, he moved on with the 
light and vigorous step of youth and enterprise. 

After making nearly a semicircle around the pond, 
they diverged from the water-course, and began to 
ascend to the level of a slight elevation in that bottom 
land, over which they journeyed. Within half an hour 
thf»v trained the margin of another opening that bore 
all the signs of having been also made by the beavers, 
and which those sagacious animals had probably been 
induced, by some accident, to abandon, for the more 
eligible position they now occupied. A very natural 
sensation caused Duncan to hesitate a moment, un¬ 
willing to leave the cover of their path, as a man 
pauses to collect his energies before he essays any 
hazardous experiment, in which he is secretly con¬ 
scious they will all be needed. He profited by the halt, 
to gather such information as might be obtained from 
his short and hasty glances. 

On the opposite side of the clearing, and near the 
point where the brook tumbled over some rocks, from 
a still higher level, some fifty or sixty lodges, rudely 

*In the first edition “his own practised reason,” 



336 


The Last of the Mohicans 


fabricated of logs, brush, and earth intermingled, 
were to be discovered. They were arranged without 
any order, and seemed to be constructed with very 
little attention to neatness or beauty. Indeed, so very 
inferior were they in the two latter particulars to the 
village Duncan had just seen, that he began to ex¬ 
pect a second surprise, no less astonishing than the 
former. This expectation was in no degree dimin¬ 
ished, when, by the doubtful twilight, he beheld twenty 
or thirty forms 5 rising alternately from the cover of 
the tall, coarse grass, in front of the lodges, and then 
sinking again from the sight, as it were to burrow in 
the earth. By the sudden and hasty glimpses that 
he caught of these figures, they seemed more like dark, 
glancing specters, or some other unearthly beings, 
than creatures fashioned with the ordinary and vulgar 
materials of flesh and blood. A gaunt, naked form 
was seen, for a single instant, tossing its arms wildly 
in the air, and then the spot it had filled was vacant; 
the figure appearing suddenly in some other and dis¬ 
tant place, or being succeeded by another, possessing 
the same mysterious character. David, observing that 
his companion lingered, pursued the direction of his 
gaze, and in some measure recalled the recollection of 
Heyward, by speaking. 

“There is much fruitful soil uncultivated here,” he 
said, “and I may add, without the sinful leaven of 
self-commendation, that since my short sojourn in 
these heathenish abodes, much good seed has been 
scattered by the wayside.” 

“The tribes are fonder of the chase than of the 
arts of men of labor,” returned the unconscious 
Duncan, still gazing at the objects of his wonder. 

“It is rather joy than labor to the spirit, to lift up 

6 This is probably an accurate account of the play of 

Indian boys. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


337 


the voice in praise; but sadly do these boys abuse 
their gifts. Rarely have I found any of their age 
on whom nature has so freely bestowed the elements 
of psalmody; and surely, surely, there are none who 
neglect them more. Three nights have I now tar¬ 
ried here, and three several times have I assembled 
the urchins to join in sacred song; and as often 
have they responded to my efforts with whoopings 
and howlings that have chilled my soul!” 

“Of whom speak you?” 

“Of those children of the devil, who waste the 
precious moments in yonder idle antics. Ah! the 
wholesome restraint of discipline is but little known 
among this self-abandoned people. In a country of 
birches, a rod is never seen, and it ought not to ap¬ 
pear a marvel in my eyes, that the choicest blessings 
of Providence are wasted in such cries as these.” 

David closed his ears against the juvenile pack, 
whose yell just then rang shrilly through the for¬ 
est; and Duncan, suffering his lip to curl, as in 
mockery of his own superstition, said firmly-^- 

“We will proceed.” 

Without removing the safeguards from his ears, 
the master of scmg complied, and together they pur¬ 
sued their way toward what David was sometimes 
wont to call the “tents of the Philistines.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


“—But though the beast of game 
The privilege of chase may claim; 

Though space and law the stag we lend, 

Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend: 

Whoever recked, where, how, or when, 

The prowling fox was trapped or slainV" 

—Scott, Lady of the Lake, IV, xxx. 

It is unusual to find an encampment of the na¬ 
tives, like those of the more instructed whites, 
guarded by the presence of armed men. Well in¬ 
formed of the approach of every danger, while it 
is yet at a distance, the Indian generally rests se¬ 
cure under his knowledge of the signs of the forest, 
and the long and difficult paths that separate him 
from those he has most reason to dread. But the 
enemy who, by any unlucky concurrence of accidents, 
has found means to elude the vigilance of the scouts, 
will seldom meet with sentinels nearer home to 
sound the alarm. In addition to this general usage, 
the tribes friendly to the French king knew too well 
the weight of the blow that had just been struck, to 
apprehend any immediate danger from the hostile 
nations that were tributary to the crown of Britain. 

When Duncan and David, therefore, found them¬ 
selves in the center of the busy children, who played 
the antics already mentioned, it was without the 
least previous intimation of their approach. But so 
soon as they were observed, the whole of the juvenile 
pack raised, by common consent, a single shrill and 
warning whoop; and then sunk, as it were by magic, 
from before the sight of their visitors. The naked, 
tawny bodies of the crouching urchins blended so 
nicely, at that hour, with the withered herbage, that 
at first it seemed as if the earth had, in truth, 
[ 338 ] 


The Last of the Mohicans 


339 


swallowed up their forms; though, when surprise 
had permitted Duncan to bend his own wondering 
looks more curiously about the spot, he found them 
everywhere met by dark, quick, and rolling eyeballs. 

Gathering no encouragement from this startling 
presage of the nature of the scrutiny he was likely to 
undergo from the more mature judgments of the 
men, there was an instant when the young soldier 
would gladly have retreated. It was, however, too 
late to appear even to hesitate. The cry of the 
children had drawn a dozen warriors to the door 
of the nearest lodge, where they stood, clustered in 
a dark and savage group, gravely awaiting the near¬ 
er approach of those who had thus unexpectedly 
come among them. 

David, in some measure familiarized to the scene, 
led the way, with a steadiness that no slight ob¬ 
stacle was likely to disconcert, into this very build¬ 
ing. It was the principal edifice of the village, 
though roughly constructed of the bark and branch¬ 
es of trees; being the lodge in which the tribe held 
its councils and public meetings, during their tem¬ 
porary residence on the borders of the English 
province. Duncan found it difficult to assume the 
necessary appearance of unconcern, as he brushed 
the dark and powerful frames of the savages who 
thronged its threshold; but, conscious that his ex¬ 
istence depended on his presence of mind, he trusted 
to the discretion of his companion, whose footsteps 
he closely followed, endeavoring, as he proceeded, to 
rally his thoughts for the occasion. His blood had 
stagnated for a moment, when he found himself in 
absolute contact with such fierce and implacable en¬ 
emies; but he so far mastered his feelings as to 
pursue his way into the center of the lodge, with an 
exterior that did not betray the weakness. Imitat- 


340 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ing the example of the deliberate Gamut, he drew 
a bundle of fragrant brush from beneath a pile, that 
filled a corner of the hut, and seated himself in 
silence. 

So soon as their visitor had passed, the observant 
warriors fell back from the entrance, and arranging 
themselves about him, they seemed patiently to wait 
the moment when it might comport with the dignity 
of the stranger to speak. By far the greater number 
stood leaning, in lazy, lounging attitudes, against 
the upright posts that supported the crazy build¬ 
ing, while three or four of the oldest and most dis¬ 
tinguished of the chiefs placed themselves on the 
earth a little more in advance. 

A flaring torch was burning in the place, and sent 
its red glare from face to face and figure to figure, 
as it waved in the currents of air, Duncan profited 
by its light to read the probable character of his 
reception, in the countenances of his hosts. But his 
ingenuity availed him little, against the cold arti¬ 
fices of the people he had encountered. The chiefs 
in front scarce cast a glance at his person, keeping 
their eyes on the ground, with an air that might have 
been intended for respect, but which it was quite 
easy to construe into distrust. The men in shadow 
were less reserved. Duncan soon detected their 
searching, but stolen looks, which, in truth, scanned 
his person and attire inch by inch; leaving no emo¬ 
tion of the countenance, no gesture, no line of the 
paint, nor even the fashion of a garment, unheeded, 
and without comment. 

At length one whose hair was beginning to be 
sprinkled with gray, but whose sinewy limbs and 
firm tread announced that he was still equal to the 
duties of manhood , 1 advanced out of the gloom of a 

Tn the first edition “arduous duties.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


341 


corner, whither he had probably posted himself to 
make his observations unseen, and spoke. He used 
the language of the Wyandots, or Hurons; his words 
were, consequently, unintelligible to Heyward, 
though they seemed, by the gestures that accom¬ 
panied them, to be uttered more in courtesy than 
anger. The latter shook his head, and made a ges¬ 
ture indicative of his inability to reply. 

“Do none of my brothers speak the French or the 
English?” he said, in the former language, looking 
about him from countenance to countenance, in 
hopes of finding a nod of assent. 

Though more than one had turned, as if to catch 
the meaning of his words, they remained unan¬ 
swered. 

“I should be grieved to think/’ continued Duncan, 
speaking slowly, and using the simplest French of 
which he was the master, “to believe that none of 
this wise and brave nation understand the language 
that the ‘Grand Monarque ’ 2 uses when he talks to his 
children. His heart would be heavy did he believe his 
red warriors paid him so little respect!” 

A long and grave pause succeeded, during which 
no movement of a limb, nor any expression of an 
eye, betrayed the impression produced by his re¬ 
mark. Duncan, who knew that silence was a virtue 
among his hosts, gladly had resource to the custom, 
in order to arrange his ideas. At length the same 
warrior who had before addressed him replied, by 
dryly demanding in the language of the Canadas 3 — 

3 King Louis XV. Called below the Great Father. Or 
perhaps the Great Father is the Governor General of 
Canada, who was at this time Pierre Frangois Rigaud, 
Marquis of Vaudreuil, son of Philippe de Vaudreuil, who 
had governed Canada early in the century. 

3 French. 



342 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“When our Great Father speaks to his people, is 
it with the tongue of a Huron?” 

“He knows no difference in his children, whether 
the color of the skin be red, or black, or white ," re¬ 
turned Duncan, evasively, “though chiefly is he sat¬ 
isfied with the brave Hurons.” 

“In what manner will he speak,” demanded the 
wary chief, “when the runners count to him the 
scalps which five nights ago grew on the heads of 
the Yengeese?” 4 

“They were his enemies,” said Duncan, shudder¬ 
ing involuntarily, “and, doubtless, he will say it is 
good—my Hurons are very valiant.” 

“Our.Canada father does not think it. Instead of 
looking forward to reward his Indians, his eyes are 
turned backward. He sees the dead Yengeese, but 
no Huron. What can this mean?’’ 

“A great chief, like him, has more thoughts than 
tongues. He looks to see that no enemies are on 
his trail.” 

“The canoe of a dead warrior will not float on 
the Horican,” returned the savage gloomily. “His 
ears are open to the Delawares, who are not our 
friends, and they fill them with lies.” 

“It cannot be. See; he has bid me, who am a 
man that knows the art of healing, to go to his 
children, the red Hurons of the Great Lakes, and ask 
if any are sick!” 

Another long deep silence succeeded this annun¬ 
ciation of the character Duncan had assumed. Every 
eye was simultaneously bent on his person, as if to 
inquire into the truth or falsehood of the declara- 

4 The Indian pronunciation of the name “English” or 
perhaps of the French “L’Anglais.” The singular “Yengee” 
is used later. The most probable derivation of “Yankee” 
is from “Yengee.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


343 


tion, with an intelligence and keenness, that caused 
the subject of their scrutiny to tremble for the re¬ 
sult. He was, however, relieved again, by the form¬ 
er speaker. 

'‘Do the cunning men of the Canadas paint their 
skins?” the Huron coldiy continued. “We have heard 
them boast that their faces were pale.” 

“When an Indian chief comes among his white 
fathers,” returned Duncan, with great steadiness, 
“he lays aside his buffalo robe, to carry the shirt 
that is offered him. My brothers have given me 
paint, and I wear it .” 5 

A low murmur of applause announced that the 
compliment to the tribe was favorably received. 
The elderly chief made a gesture of commendation, 
which was answered by most of his companions, who 
each threw forth a hand, and uttered a brief exclam¬ 
ation of pleasure. Duncan began to breathe more 
freely, believing that the weight of his examination 
was past; and as he had already prepared a simple and 
probable tale to support' his pretended occupation, 
his hopes of ultimate success grew brighter. 

After a silence of a few moments, as if adjusting 
his thoughts, in order to make a suitable answer to 
the declaration their guest had just given, another 
warrior arose, and placed himself in an attitude to 
speak. While his lips were yet in the act of part¬ 
ing, a low but fearful sound arose from the forest 
and was immediately succeeded by a high, shrill 
yell, that was drawn out, until it equaled the longest 
and most plaintive howl of the wolf. The sudden 
terrible interruption caused Duncan to start from 

5 Tlii.s incident of the disguise of Heyward and of his 
mission is not so far-fetched as it may seem. The French 
often adopted the garb and manner of life of the Indians, 
in order to secure their good will. 



344 


The Last of the Mohicans 


his .seat, unconscious of everything but the effect 
produced by so fearful a cry. At the same moment, 
the warriors glided in a body from the lodge, and 
the outer air was filled with loud shouts, that nearly 
drowned those awful sounds, which 6 were still ring¬ 
ing beneath the arches of the woods. Unable to 
command himself any longer, the youth broke from 
the place, and presently stood in the center of a dis¬ 
orderly throng, that included nearly everything hav¬ 
ing life, within the limits of the encampment. Men, 
women, and children; the aged, the infirm, the act¬ 
ive, and the strong, were alike abroad; some ex¬ 
claiming aloud, others clapping their hands with a 
joy that seemed frantic, and all expressing their 
savage pleasure in some unexpected event. Though 
astounded, at first, by the uproar, Heyward was 
soon enabled to find its solution by the scene that 
followed. 

There yet lingered sufficient light in the heavens 
to exhibit those bright openings among the tree-tops, 
where different paths left the clearing to enter the 
depths of the wilderness. Beneath one of them, a 
line of warriors issued from the woods, and advanced 
slowly towards the dwellings. One in front bore a 
short pole, on which, as it afterwards appeared, were 
suspended several human scalps. The startling 
sounds that Duncan had heard were what the whites 
have not inappropriately called the “death-halloo”; 
and each repetition of the cry was intended to an¬ 
nounce to the tribe the fate of an enemy. Thus far 
the knowledge of Heyward assisted him in the ex¬ 
planation; and as he now knew that the interrup¬ 
tion was caused by the unlooked-for return of a 
successful war-party, every disagreeable sensation 

6 The first edition had ‘'Which the organs of Duncan oc¬ 
casionally announced/’ 



The Last of the Mohicans 


345 


was quieted in inward congratulation, for the op¬ 
portune relief and insignificance it conferred on him¬ 
self. 

When at the distance of a few hundred feet from 
the lodges, the newly arrived warriors halted. Their 
plaintive and terrific cry, which was intended 
to represent equally the wailing of the dead and 
the triumph of the victors, had entirely ceased. One 
of their number now called aloud, in words that 
were far more appalling, though not more intelli¬ 
gible to those for whose ears they were intended, 
than their expressive yells. It would be difficult to 
convey a suitable idea of the savage ecstasy with 
which the news thus imparted, was received. The 
whole encampment, in a moment, became a scene of 
the most violent bustle and commotion. The war¬ 
riors drew their knives, and flourishing them on 
high, they arranged themselves in two lines, form¬ 
ing a lane, that extended from the war-party to the 
lodges. The squaws seized clubs, axes, or what¬ 
ever weapon of offense first offered itself to their 
hands, and rushed eagerly to act their part in the 
cruel game that was at hand. Even the children 
would not be excluded; but boys, little able to wield 
the instruments, tore the tomahawks from the belts 
of their fathers, and stole into the ranks, apt im¬ 
itators of the savage traits exhibited by their par¬ 
ents. 

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clear¬ 
ing, and a wary and aged squaw was occupied in 
firing as many as might serve to light the coming 
exhibition. As the flame arose, its power exceeded 
that of the parting day, and assisted to render ob¬ 
jects at the same time more distinct and more hid¬ 
eous. The whole scene formed a striking picture, 
whose frame was composed by the dark and tall 


346 


The Last of the Mohicans 


border of pines. The warriors just arrived were 
the most distant figures. A little in advance, stood 
two men, who were apparently selected from the 
rest, as the principal actors in what was to follow. 
The light was not strong enough to render their 
features distinct, though it was quite evident that 
they were governed by very different emotions . 7 

While one stood erect and firm, prepared to meet 
his fate like a hero, the other bowed his head as 
if palsied by terror, or stricken with shame. The 
high-spirited Duncan felt a powerful impulse of ad¬ 
miration and pity towards the former, though no 
opportunity could offer to exhibit his generous 
emotions. He watched the slightest movement, how¬ 
ever, with eager eyes: and as he traced the fine out¬ 
line of his admirably proportioned and active frame, 
he endeavored to persuade himself that if the powers 
of man, seconded by such noble resolution, could 
bear one harmless through so severe a trial, the 
youthful captive before him might hope for success 
in the hazardous race 8 he was about to run. Insen¬ 
sibly the young man drew nigher to the swarthy 
lines of the Hurons, and scarcely breathed, so in¬ 
tense became his interest in the spectacle. Just 
then the signal yell was given, and the momentary 
quiet which had preceded it was broken by a burst 
of cries that far exceeded any before heard. The 
most abject of the two victims continued motion- 

7 There was no paragraph at this point in the first edi¬ 
tion. 

8 The “hazardous race’’ is the so-called “running the 
gauntlet.” This was a flight through two lines about 
six feet apart. Each person along the lines might strike 
at the runner as he passed. Or he might break through 
t-lie line before reaching the end. If he came to the post 
of safety he was secure till his fate was decided by the 
council. Fee “gauntlet” in Glossary. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


347 


less; but the other bounded from the place at the 
cry, with the activity and swiftness of a deer. In¬ 
stead of rushing through the hostile lines, as had 
been expected, he just entered the dangerous de¬ 
file, and before time was given for a single blow, 
turned short, and leaping the heads of a row of 
children, he gained at once the exterior and safer 
side of the formidable array. The artifice was an¬ 
swered by a hundred voices raised in imprecations; 
and the whole of the excited multitude broke from 
their order, and spread themselves about the place 
in wild confusion. 

A dozen blazing piles now shed their lurid bright¬ 
ness on the place, which resembled some unhal¬ 
lowed and supernatural arena, in which malicious 
demons had assembled to enact their bloody and 
lawless rites. The forms in the background looked 
like unearthly beings, gliding before the eye and 
cleaving the air with frantic and unmeaning ges¬ 
tures; while the savage passions of such as passed 
the flames were rendered fearfully distinct by the 
gleam that shot athwart their inflamed visages. 

It will be easily understood that amid such a con¬ 
course of vindictive enemies no breathing time was 
allowed the fugitive. There was a single moment 
when it seemed as if he would have reached the 
forest, but the whole body of his captors threw 
themselves before him, and drove him back into the 
center of his relentless persecutors. Turning like 
a headed deer, he shot, with the swiftness of an 
arrow, through a pillar of forked flame, and, passing 
the whole multitude harmless, he appeared on the 
opposite side of the clearing. Here too he was met 
and turned by a few of the older and more subtle 
Hurons. Once more he tried the throng, as if seek¬ 
ing safety in its blindness, and then several mo- 


348 


The Last of the Mohicans 


merits succeeded, during which Duncan believed the 
active and courageous young stranger was lost. 

Nothing could be distinguished but the dark mass 
of human forms tossed and involved in inexplicable 
confusion. Arms, gleaming knives, and formidable 
clubs, appeared above them, but the blows were 
evidently given at random. The awful effect was 
heightened by the piercing shrieks of the women 
and the fierce yells of the warriors. Now and then 
Duncan caught a glimpse of a light form cleaving 
the air in some desperate bound, and he rather 
hoped than believed that the captive yet retained 
the command of his astonishing powers of activity. 
Suddenly the multitude rolled backward, and ap¬ 
proached the spot where he himself stood. The 
heavy body in the rear pressed upon the women and 
children in the front, and bore them to the earth. 
The stranger re-appeared in the confusion. Human 
power could not, however, much longer endure so 
severe a trial. Of this the captive seemed conscious. 
Profiting by the momentary opening, he darted from 
among the warriors, and made a desperate, and 
what seemed to Duncan, a final effort to gain the 
wood. As if aware that no danger was to be ap¬ 
prehended from the young soldier, the fugitive near¬ 
ly brushed his person in his flight. A tall and pow¬ 
erful Huron, who had husbanded his forces, pressed 
close upon his heels, and with an uplifted arm, 
menaced a fatal blow. Duncan thrust forth a foot, 
and the shock precipitated the eager savage head¬ 
long, many feet in advance of his intended victim. 
Thought itself is not quicker than was the motion 
with which the latter profited by the advantage; he 
turned, gleamed like a meteor again before the eyes 
of Duncan, and at the next moment, when the latter 
recovered his recollection, and gazed around in 


The Last op the Mohicans 


349 


quest of the captive, he saw him quietly leaning 
against a small painted post, which stood before 
the door of the principal lodge. 

Apprehensive that the part he had taken in the 
escape might prove fatal to himself, Duncan left the 
place without delay. He followed the crowd, which 
drew nigh the lodges, gloomy and sullen, like any 
other multitude that has been disappointed in an 
execution. Curiosity, or perhaps a better feeling, 
induced him to approach the stranger. He found 
him, standing with one arm cast about the protect¬ 
ing post, and breathing thick and hard, after his 
exertions, but disdaining to permit a single sign of 
suffering to escape. His person was now protected 
by immemorial and sacred usage, until the tribe in 
council had deliberated and determined on his fate. 
It was not difficult, however, to foretell the result, 
if any presage could be drawn from the feelings of 
those who crowded the place. 

There was no term of abuse known to the Huron 
vocabulary that the disappointed women did not 
lavishly expend on the successful stranger. They 
flouted at his efforts, and told him, with bitter 
scoffs, that his feet were better than his hands; and 
that he merited wings, while he knew not the use of 
an arrow or a knife. To all this the captive made 
no reply; but was content to preserve an attitude 
in which dignity was singularly blended with dis¬ 
dain. Exasperated as much by his composure as by 
his good-fortune, their words became unintelligible, 
and were succeeded by shrill, piercing yells. Just 
then the crafty sqqaw, who had taken the necessary 
precaution to fire the piles, made her way through 
the throng, and cleared a place for herself in front 
of the captive. The squalid and withered person of 
this hag might well have obtained for her the char- 


350 


The Last of the Mohicans 


acter of possessing more than human cunning. 
Throwing back her light vestment, she stretched 
forth her long skinny arm, in derision, and using 
the language of the Lenape, as more intelligible to 
the subject of her gibes, she commenced aloud—• 

“Look you, Delaware!” she said, snapping her 
fingers in his face, “your nation is a race of wo¬ 
men, and the hoe is better fitted to your hands than 
the gun! Your squaws are the mothers of deer; 
but if a bear, or a wild cat, or a serpent were born 
among you, ye would flee! The Huron girls shall 
make you petticoats, and we will find you a hus¬ 
band.” 

A loud burst of savage and taunting laughter suc¬ 
ceeded this attack, during which the soft and musi¬ 
cal merriment of the younger females chimed with 
the cracked voice of their older and more malignant 
companion. But the stranger was superior to all their 
efforts. His head was immovable; nor did he betray 
the slightest consciousness that any were present, 
except when his haughty eye rolled proudly towards 
the dusky forms of the warriors, who stalked in the 
background, silent and sullen observers of the scene. 

Infuriated at the self-command of the captive, the 
woman placed her arms akimbo, and throwing her¬ 
self in the posture of defiance, she broke out anew, 
in a torrent of words that no art of ours could com¬ 
mit successfully to paper. Her breath was, how¬ 
ever, expended in vain; for, although distinguished 
in her nation as a proficient in the art of abuse, she 
was permitted to work herself into such a fury, as 
actually to foam at the mouth, .without causing a 
muscle to vibrate in the motionless figure of the 
stranger. The effect of his indifference began to 
extend itself to the other spectators; and a youngster 
who was just quitting the condition of a boy, to 


The Last of the Mohicans 


351 


emter the state of manhood, attempted to assist the 
termagant, by flourishing his tomahawk before their 
victim, and adding his empty boasts to the taunts 
of the woman. Then, indeed, the captive turned his 
face towards the light, and looked down on the 
stripling with a loftiness of expression, that was 
even superior to contempt. At the next moment, 
he resumed his quiet and reclining attitude against 
the post. But the action and the change of posture 
had permitted Duncan to exchange glances with 
the firm and piercing eyes of Uncas. 

Breathless with amazement, and heavily oppressed 
with the critical situation of his friend, Heyward 
recoiled before the look, trembling lest its meaning 
might, in some unknown manner, hasten the prison¬ 
er’s fate. There was not, however, any instant 
cause for such an apprehension. Just then a war¬ 
rior forced his way into the exasperated crowd. 
Motioning the women and children aside with a 
stern gesture, he took Uncas by the arm, and led 
him towards the door of the council lodge. Thither 
all the chiefs, and most of the distinguished war¬ 
riors, followed; among whom the anxious Heyward 
found means to enter without attracting any danger¬ 
ous attention to himself. 

A few minutes were consumed in disposing of those 
present in a manner suitable to their rank and in¬ 
fluence in the tribe. An order very similar to that 
adopted in the preceding interview was observed; 
the aged and superior chiefs occupying the area of 
the spacious apartment, within the powerful light 
of a glaring torch, while their juniors and inferiors 
were arranged in the background, presenting a dark 
outline of swarthy and marked visages. In the very 
center of the lodge, immediately under an opening 
that admitted the twinkling light of one or two 


352 


The Last of the Mohicans 


stars, stood Uncas, calm, elevated, and collected. 
His high and haughty carriage was not lost on his 
captors, who often bent their looks on his person, 
with eyes which, while they lost none of their in¬ 
flexibility of purpose, plainly betrayed their admira¬ 
tion of the stranger’s daring. 

The case was different with the, individual whom 
Duncan had observed to stand forth with his friends, 
previously to the desperate trial of speed; and who, 
instead of joining in the chase, had remained, 
throughout its turbulent uproar, like a cringing 
statue, expressive of shame and disgrace. Though 
not a hand had been extended to greet him, nor yet 
an eye had condescended to watch his movements, 
he had also entered the lodge, as though impelled 
by a fate to whose decree he submitted, seemingly, 
without a struggle. Heyward profited by the first 
opportunity to gaze in his face, secretly apprehen¬ 
sive he might find the features of another acquaint¬ 
ance ; but they proved to be those of a stranger, and, 
what was still more inexplicable, of one who bore 
all the distinctive marks of a Huron warrior. In¬ 
stead of mingling with his tribe, however, he sat 
apart, a solitary being in a multitude, his form 
shrinking into a crouching and abject attitude, as 
if anxious to fill as little space as possible. When 
each individual had taken his proper station, and a 
breathing silence reigned in the place, the gray¬ 
haired chief, already introduced to the reader, spoke 
aloud, in the language of the Lenni-Lenape. 

“Delaware,” he said, “though one of a nation of 
women, you have proved yourself a man. I would 
give you food, but he who eats with a Huron should 
become his friend. Rest in peace till the morning 
sun, when our words shall be spoken to you.” 

“Seven nights, and as many summer days, have I 


The Last of the Mohicans 


353 


fasted on the trail of the Hurons," Uncas coolly re¬ 
plied. “The children of the Lenape know how to 
travel the path of the just without lingering to eat." 

“Two .of my young men are in pursuit of your 
companion," resumed the other, without appearing 
to regard the boast of his captive. “When they get 
back, then will our wise men say to you—live or 
die!" 

“Has a Huron no ears?" scornfully exclaimed 
Uncas. “Twice since he has been your prisoner has 
the Delaware heard a gun that he knows! Your 
young men will never come back." 

A short and sullen pause succeeded this confident 
assertion. Duncan, who understood the Mohican to 
allude to the fatal rifle of the scout, bent forward 
in earnest observation of the effect it might pro¬ 
duce on the conquerors; but the chief was content 
with simply retorting— 

“If the Lenape are so skilled, why is one of their 
bravest warriors here?" 

“He followed in the steps of a flying coward, and 
fell into a snare. The cunning beaver may be 
caught!" 

As Uncas thus replied, hb pointed with his finger 
towards the solitary Huron, but without deigning to 
bestow any other notice on so unworthy an object. 
The words of the answer, and the air of the speaker, 
produced a powerful sensation among his auditors. 
Every eye rolled sullenly toward the individual in¬ 
dicated by a simple gesture, and a low, threatening 
murmur passed through the crowd. The opiinous 
sounds reached the outer door, and the women and 
children pressing into the throng, no gap had been 
left, between shoulder and shoulder, that was not, 
now, filled with the dark lineaments of some eager 
and curious human countenance. 


354 


The Last of the Mohicans 


In the meantime, the more aged chiefs, in the 
center, communed with each other in short and 
broken sentences. Not a word was uttered that did 
not convey the meaning of the speaker, in the simp¬ 
lest and most energetic form. Again, a long and 
deeply solemn pause took place. It was known, by 
all present, to be the grave precursor of a weighty 
and important judgment. They who composed the 
outer circle of faces were on tiptoe to gaze; and 
even the culprit for an instant forgot his shame in 
a deeper emotion, and exposed his abject features, 
in order to cast an anxious and troubled glance at 
the dark assemblage of chiefs. The silence was 
finally broken by the aged warrior so often named. 
He arose from the earth, and moving past the im¬ 
movable form of Uncas, placed himself in a digni¬ 
fied attitude before the offender. At that moment, 
the withered squaw already mentioned moved into 
the circle, in a slow, sidling sort of dance, holding 
the torch, and muttering the indistinct words of 
what might have been a species of incantation. 
Though her presence was altogether an intrusion, 
it was unheeded. 

Approaching Uncas, she held the blazing brand 
in such a manner as to cast its red glare on his 
person, and to expose the slightest emotion of his 
countenance. The Mohican maintained his firm and 
haughty attitude; and his eye, so far from deigning 
to meet her inquisitive look, dwelt steadily on the 
distance, as though it penetrated the obstacles 
which impeded the view and looked into futurity. 
Satisfied with her examination, she left him, with a 
slight expression of pleasure, and proceeded to 
practise the same trying experiment on her delin¬ 
quent countryman. 

The young Huron was in his war paint, and very 


The Last of THfe Mohicans 


355 


little of a finely moulded form was concealed by his 
attire. The light rendered every limb amd joint dis¬ 
cernible, and Duncan turned away in horror when 
he saw they were writhing in irrepressible agony. 
The woman was commencing a low and plaintive 
howl at the sad and shameful spectacle, when the 
chief put forth his hand and gently pushed her aside. 

“Reed-that-bends,” he said, addressing the young 
culprit by name, and in his proper language, “though 
the Great Spirit has made you pleasant to the eye, 
it would have been better that you had not been 
born. Your tongue is loud in the village, but in 
battle it is still. None of my young men strike! the 
tomahawk deeper into the war-post—none of them 
so lightly on the Yengeese. The enemy know the 
shape of your back, but they have neve*- seen the 
color of your eyes. Three times have they called 
on you to come, and as often did you forget to an¬ 
swer. Your name will never be mentioned again in 
your tribe—it is already forgotten.” 

As the chief slowly uttered these words, pausing 
impressively between each sentence, the culprit 
raised his face in deference to the other’s rank and 
years. Shame, horror, and pride struggled fearfully 
in its speaking lineaments. His eye, which was 
contracted with inward anguish, gleamed around 
on the persons of those whose breath was his fame, 
and the latter emotion, for an instant predominated. 
He arose to his feet, and. baring his bosom, looked 
steadily on the keen, glittering knife that was al¬ 
ready upheld by his inexorable judge. As the weap¬ 
on passed slowly into his heart 9 he even smiled, as 
if in joy, at having found death less dreadful than 

9 This might be the fate of a coward. Sometimes, how¬ 
ever, an Indian merely lost caste as a “brave” and became 
a “squaw-man” or drudge. 



356 


The Last of the Mohicans 


he had anticipated, and fell heavily on his face, at 
the feet of the rigid and unyielding form of Uncas. 

The squaw gave a loud and plaintive yell, dashed 
the torch to the earth, and buried everything in 
darkness. The whole shuddering group of spec¬ 
tators glided from the lodge like troubled spirits; 
and Duncan thought that he and the yet throbbing 
body of the victim of an Indian judgment had now 
become its only tenants. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


“Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay 
Dissolve the council, and their chief obey.” 

—Pope’s Iliad, II, 65. 

A single moment served to convince the youth 
that he was mistaken. A hand was laid, with a 
powerful pressure, on his arm, and the low voice of 
Uncas muttered in his ears— 

“The Hurons are dogs. The sight of a coward's 
blood can never make a warrior tremble. The ‘Gray- 
Head’ and the Sagamore are safe, and the rifle of 
Hawkeye is not asleep. Go,—Uncas and the ‘Open 
Hand’ are now strangers. It is enough.” 

Heyward would gladly have heard more, but a 
gentle push from his friend urged him toward the 
door, and admonished him of the danger that might 
attend the discovery of their intercourse. Slowly 
and reluctantly yielding to the necessity, he quitted 
the place, and mingled with the throng that hovered 
nigh. The dying fires in the clearing cast a dim 
uncertain light on the dusky figures that were 
silently stalking to and fro; and occasionally a 
brighter gleam than common glanced into the lodge, 
and exhibited the figure of Uncas still maintaining 
its upright attitude near the dead body of the 
Huron. 

A knot of warriors soon entered the place again, 
and reissuing, they bore the senseless remains into 
the adjacent woods. After this termination of the 
scene, Duncan wandered among the lodges, un¬ 
questioned and unnoticed, endeavoring to find some 
trace of her in whose behalf he incurred the risk he 
ran. In the present temper of the tribe, it would 
have been easy to have fled and rejoined his com¬ 
panions, had such a wish crossed his mind. But, 
[357] 


358 


The Last of the Mohicans 


in addition to the never-ceasing anxiety on account 
of Alice, a fresher though feebler interest in the 
fate of Uncas assisted to chain him. to the spot. He 
continued, therefore, to stray from hut to hut, look¬ 
ing into each only to encounter additional disap¬ 
pointments, until he had made the entire circuit of 
the village. Abandoning a species of inquiry that 
proved so fruitless, he retraced his steps to the 
council lodge, resolved to seek and question David, 
in order to put an end to his doubts. 

On reaching the building which had proved alike 
the seat of judgment and the place of execution, the 
young man found that the excitement had already 
subsided. The warriors had reassembled, and were 
now calmly smoking, while they conversed gravely on 
the chief incidents of their recent expedition to the 
head of the Horican. Though the return of Duncan 
was likely to remind them of his character, and the 
'suspicious circumstances of his visit, it produced 
no visible sensation. So far, the terrible scene that 
had just occurred proved favorable to his views and 
he required no other prompter than his own feelings 
to convince him of the expediency of profiting by 
so unexpected an advantage. 

Without seeming to hesitate, he walked into the 
lodge and took his seat with a gravity that accorded 
admirably with the deportment of his hosts. A 
hasty but searching glance sufficed to tell him that 
though Uncas still remained where he had left him, 
David had not reappeared. No other restraint was 
imposed on the former than the watchful looks of a 
young Huron, who had placed himself at hand, 
though an armed warrior leaned against the post 
that formed one side of the narrow doorway. In 
every other respect the captive seemed at liberty; 
still, he was excluded from all participation in the 


The Last of the Mohicans 


359 


discourse, and possessed much more the air of 
some finely moulded statue, than of a man having 
life and volition. 

Heyward had too recently witnessed a frightful 
instance of the prompt punishments of the people 
into whose hands he had fallen, to hazard an ex¬ 
posure by any officious boldness. He would greatly 
have preferred silence and meditation to speech, 
when a discovery of his real condition might prove 
so instantly fatal. Unfortunately for this prudent 
resolution, his entertainers appeared otherwise dis¬ 
posed. He had not long occupied the seat he had 
wisely taken, a little in the shade, when another of 
the elder warriors, who spoke the French language, 
addressed him— 

“My Canadian father does not forget his chil¬ 
dren!” said the chief. “I thank him. An evil spirit 
lives in the wife of one of my young men. Can the 
cunning stranger frighten him away?” 

Heyward possessed some knowledge of the mum¬ 
mery practised among the Indians, in the cases of 
such supposed visitations. He saw, at a glance, 
that the circumstances might possibly be improved 
to further his own ends. It would, therefore, have 
been difficult, just then, to have uttered a proposal 
that would have given him more satisfaction. Aware 
of the necessity of preserving the dignity of his 
imaginary character, however, he repressed his 
feelings, and answered with suitable mystery— 

“Spirits differ; some yield to the power of wis¬ 
dom, while others are too strong.” 

“My brother is a great medicine!” said the cun¬ 
ning savage. “He will try?” 

A gesture of assent was the answer. The Huron 
was content with the assurance, and resuming his 
pipe, he awaited the proper moment to move. The 


360 


The Last of the Mohicans 


impatient Heyward, inwardly execrating the cold 
customs of the savages, which require such sacri¬ 
fices to appearance, was feign to assume an air of in¬ 
difference equal to that maintained by the chief, who 
was, in truth, a near relative of the afflicted woman. 
The minutes lingered, and the delay seemed an hour 
to the adventurer in empiricism, when the Huron 
laid aside his pipe, and drew his robe across his 
breast, as if about to lead the way to the lodge of 
the invalid. Just then, a warrior of powerful frame 
darkened the door, and stalking silently among the 
attentive group, he seated himself on one end of 
the low pile of brush which sustained Duncan. The 
latter cast an impatient look at his neighbor, and 
felt his flesh creep with uncontrollable horror when 
he found himself in actual contact with Magua. 

The sudden return of this artful and dreaded chief 
caused a delay in the departure of the Huron. Sev¬ 
eral pipes, that had been extinguished, were lighted 
again, while the newcomer, without speaking a 
word, drew his tomahawk from his girdle, and fill¬ 
ing the bowl on its head, began to inhale the vapors 
of the weed through the hollow handle, with as 
much indifference as if he had not been absent two 
weary days on a long and toilsome hunt. Ten min¬ 
utes, which appeared so many ages to Duncan, 
might have passed in this manner; and the war¬ 
riors were fairly enveloped in a cloud of white 
smoke before any of them spoke . 1 

“Welcome!” one at length uttered. “Has my 
friend found the moose?” 

“The young men stagger under their burdens,” 
returned Magua. “Let ‘Reed-that-bends’ go on the 
hunting-path; he will meet them.” 

'In the first edition, “before one of them ut'bered the sig¬ 
nificant word.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


361 


A deep and awful silence succeeded the utterance 
of the forbidden name. Each pipe dropped from the 
lips of its owner as though all had inhaled an im¬ 
purity at the same instant. The smoke wreathed 
above their heads in little eddies, and curling in a 
spiral form, it ascended swiftly through the open¬ 
ing in the roof of the lodge, leaving the place be¬ 
neath clear of its fumes, and each dark visage dis¬ 
tinctly visible. The looks of most of the warriors 
were riveted on the earth; though a few of the 
younger and less gifted of the party suffered their 
wild and glaring eyeballs to roll in the direction 
of a white-headed savage, who sat between two of 
the most venerated chiefs of the tribe. There was 
nothing in the air or attire of this Indian that would 
seem to entitle him to such a distinction. The for¬ 
mer was rather depressed than remarkable for the 
bearing of the natives; and the latter was such as 
was commonly worn by the ordinary men of the na¬ 
tion. Like most around him, for more than a minute 
his look was on the ground; but trusting his eyes, 
at length, to steal a glance aside, he perceived that 
he was becoming an object of general attention. 
Then he arose, and lifted his voice amid the general 
silence. 

“It was a lie,” he said. “I had no son! He who 
was called by that name is forgotten; his blood was 
pale, and came not from the veins of a Huron: the 
wicked Chippewas cheated my squaw! The Great 
Spirit has said that the family of Wiss-en-tush 
should end—he is happy who knows that the evil 
of his race dies with himself! T have done.” 

The father then looked round and about him, as 
if seeking commendation for his stoicism, in the eyes 
of his auditors. But the stern customs of his peo¬ 
ple had made too severe an exaction of the feeble 


362 


The Last of the Mohicans 


old man. The expression of his eye contradicted 
his figurative and boastful language, while every 
muscle in his swarthy and wrinkled visage was 
working with inward anguish. Standing a single 
minute to enjoy his bitter triumph, he turned away, 
as if sickening at the gaze of men, and veiling his 
face in his blanket, he walked from the lodge with 
the noiseless step of an Indian, and sought, in the 
privacy of his own abode, the sympathy of one like 
himself, aged, forlorn, and childless. 

The Indians, who believe in the hereditary trans¬ 
mission of virtues and defects in character, suffered 
him to depart in silence. Then with an elevation .of 
breeding that many in a more cultivated state of so¬ 
ciety might profitably emulate, one of the chiefs 
drew the attention of the young men from the weak¬ 
ness they had just witnessed by saying, in a cheer¬ 
ful voice, addressing himself in courtesy to Magua, 
as the newest comer— 

“The Delawares have been, like bears after the 
honey-pots, prowling around my village. But who 
has ever found a Huron asleep?” 

The darkness of the impending cloud which pre¬ 
cedes a burst of thunder, was not blacker than the 
brow of Magua, as he exclaimed— 

“The Delawares of the Lakes!” 

“Not so. They who wear the petticoats of squaws 
on their own river. One of them has been passing 
the tribe.” 

“Did my young men take his scalp?” 

“His legs were good, though his arm is better for 
the hoe than the tomahawk,” returned the other 
pointing to the immovable form of Uncas. 

Instead of manifesting any womanish curiosity to 
feast his eyes with a sight of a captive from a peo¬ 
ple he was known to have much reason to hate, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


363 


Magua continued to smoke, with the meditative air 
that he usually maintained, when there was no im¬ 
mediate call on his cunning or his eloquence. Al¬ 
though secretly amazed at the facts communicated 
by the speech of the aged father, he permitted him¬ 
self to ask no questions, reserving his inquiries for 
a more suitable moment. It was only after a suffi¬ 
cient interval that he shook the ashes from his pipe, 
replaced the tomahawk, tightened his girdle, and 
arose, casting for the first time a glance in the 
direction of the prisoner,, who stood a little behind 
him. The wary, though seemingly abstracted Un- 
cas, caught a glimpse of the movement, and turning 
suddenly to the light, their looks met. Near a min¬ 
ute these two bold and untamed spirits stood re¬ 
garding one another steadily in the eye, neither 
quailing in the least before the fierce gaze he en¬ 
countered. The form of Uncas dilated, and his nos¬ 
trils opened like those of a tiger at bay; but so rigid 
and unyielding was his posture that he might eas¬ 
ily have been converted by the imagination into an 
exquisite and faultless representation of the war¬ 
like deity of his tribe. The lineaments of the quiv¬ 
ering features of Magua proved more ductile; his 
countenance gradually lost its character of defiance 
in an expression of ferocious joy, and heaving a 
breath from the very bottom of his chest, he pro¬ 
nounced aloud the very formidable name of— 

“Le Cerf Agile!” 

Each warrior sprang upon his feet at the utter¬ 
ance of the well-known appellation, and there was 
a short period, during which the stoical constancy 
of the natives was completely conquered by sur¬ 
prise. The hated and yet respected name was re¬ 
peated as by one voice, carrying the sound even be¬ 
yond the limits of the lodge. The women and chil- 


364 


The Last of the Mohicans 


dren, who lingered around the entrance, took up the 
words in an echo which was succeeded by another 
shrill and plaintive howl. The latter was not yet 
ended when the sensation among the men had en¬ 
tirely abated. Each one in presence seated himself, 
as though ashamed of his precipitation, but it was 
many minutes before their meaning eyes ceased to 
roll towards their captive, in curious examination 
of a warrior who had so often proved his prowess 
on the best and proudest of their nation. 

Uncas enjoyed his victory, but was content with 
merely exhibiting his triumph, by a quiet and proud 
curl of the lip; an emblem of scorn that belongs to 
all time and every nation. Magua caught the ex¬ 
pression, and raising his arm, he shook it at the 
captive—the light silver ornaments attached to his 
bracelet rattling with the trembling agitation of the 
limb, as, in a tone of vengeance, he exclaimed, in 
English— 

“Mohican, you die!” 

“The healing waters will never bring the dead 
Hurons to life!” returned Uncas, in the music of the 
Delawares. “The tumbling rivers wash their bones! 
their men are squaws; their women owls. Go—call 
together the Huron dogs, that they may look upon a 
warrior. My nostrils are offended; they scent the 
blood of a coward!” 

The latter allusion struck deep, and the injury 
rankled. Many of the Hurons understood the 
strange tongue in which the captive spoke, among 
which number was Magua. This cunning savage 
beheld, and instantly profited by his advantage. 
Dropping the light robe of skin from his shoulders, 
he stretched forth his arm, and commenced a burst 
of his dangerous and artful eloquence. However 
much his influence among his people had been im- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


365 


paired by his occasional and besetting weakness, as 
well as by his desertion of the tribe, his courage, 
and his fame as an orator, were undeniable. He 
never spoke without auditors, and rarely without 
making converts to his opinions. On the present 
occasion, his native powers were stimulated by the 
thirst of revenge. 

He again recounted the events of the attack on 
the island at Glenn’s, the death of his associates, 
and the escape of their most formidable enemies. 
Then he described the nature and position of the 
mount whither he had led such captives as had fallen 
into their hands. Of his own bloody intentions 
towards the maidens, and of his baffled malice he 
made no mention, but passed rapidly on to the sur¬ 
prise of the party by La Longue Carabine, and its 
fatal termination. Here he paused, and looked 
about him, in affected veneration for the departed, 
but, in truth, to note the effect of his opening nar¬ 
rative. As usual, every eye was riveted on his face. 
Each dusky figure seemed a breathing statue, so 
motionless was the posture, so intense the attention 
of the individual. 

Then Magua dropped his voice, which had hither¬ 
to been clear, strong, and elevated, and touched up¬ 
on the merits of the dead. No quality that was 
likely to command the sympathy of an Indian es¬ 
caped his notice. One had never been known to fol¬ 
low the chase in vain; another had been indefati¬ 
gable on the trail of their enemies. This was brave, 
that generous. In short, he so managed his allu¬ 
sions, that in a nation, which was composed of so 
few families, he contrived to strike every chord that 
might find, in its turn, some breast in which to 
vibrate. 

“Are the bones of my young men,” he concluded, 


366 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“in the burial-place of the Hurons? You know they 
are not. Their spirits are gone towards the setting 
sun, and are already crossing the great waters, to 
the happy hunting-grounds.' But they departed 
without food, without guns or knives, without moc¬ 
casins, naked and poor as they were born. Shall 
this be? Are their souls to enter me land of the 
just, like hungry ^roquois, or unmanly Delawares; 
or shall they meet their friends with arms in their 
hands, and robes on their backs? What will our 
fathers think the tribes of the Wyandots have be¬ 
come? They will look on their children with a dark 
eye, and say, ‘Go; a Chippewa has come hither with 
the name of a Huron.’ Brothers, we must not forget 
the dead; a red-skin never ceases to remember. We 
will load the back of this Mohican, until he staggers 
under our bounty, and dispatch him after my young 
men. They call to us for aid, though our ears are 
not open; they say ‘Forget us not.’ When they see 
the spirit of this Mohican toiling after them with 
his burden, they will know we are of that mind. 
Then will they go on happy; and our children will 
say, ‘So did our fathers to their friends, so must 
we do to them.’ What is a Yengee? we have slain 
many, but the earth is still pale. A stain on the 
name of a Huron can only be hid by blood that comes 
from the veins of an Indian. Let, then, this Del¬ 
aware die.” 

The effect of such an harangue, delivered in the 
nervous language, and with the emphatic manner of 
a Huron orator, could scarcely be mistaken. Magua 
had so artfully blended the natural sympathies with 
the religious superstition of his auditors, that their 
minds, already prepared by custom to sacrifice a 

"The Indian Paradise. Here placed toward the setting 
not toward the rising sun. 



The Las7 of the Mohicans 


367 


victim to the manes of their countrymen, lost every 
vestige of humanity in a wish for instant revenge. 
One warrior in particular, a man of wild and fero¬ 
cious mien, had been conspicuous for the attention 
he had given to the words of the speaker. His 
countenance had changed with each passing emo¬ 
tion, until it settled into a continued and deadly 
look of malice. As Magua ended, he arose, and ut¬ 
tering the yell of a demon, his polished little axe 
was seen glancing in the torch-light, as he whirled 
it above his head. The motion and the cry were 
too sudden for words to interrupt his bloody in¬ 
tention. It appeared as if a bright gleam shot from 
his hand, which was crossed at the same moment 
by a dark and powerful line. The former was the 
tomahawk in its passage; the latter the arm that 
Magua darted forward to divert its aim. The 
quick and ready motion of the chief was not en¬ 
tirely too late. The keen weapon cut the war-plume 
from the scalping-tuft of Uncas, and passed through 
the frail wall of the lodge, as though it were hurled 
from some formidable engine. 

Duncan had seen the threatening action, and 
sprang upon his feet, with a heart which, while it 
leaped into his throat, swelled with the most gen¬ 
erous resolution in behalf of his friend. A glance 
told him that the blow had failed, and terror changed 
to admiration. Uncas stood still, looking his enemy 
in the eye with features that seemed superior to 
emotion. Marble could not be colder, calmer, or 
steadier than the countenance he put upon this sud¬ 
den and vindictive attack. Then, as if pitying a 
want of skill which had proved so fortunate to him¬ 
self, he smiled, and muttered a few words of con¬ 
tempt in his own tongue. 

“Nor’ said Magua, after satisfying himself of the 


368 


The Last of the Mohicans 


safety of the captive, “The sun must shine on his 
shame; the squaws must see his flesh tremble, or 
our revenge will be like the play of boys. Go! take 
him where there is silence. Let us see if a Dela¬ 
ware can sleep at night, and in the morning die.” 

The young men whose duty it was to guard the 
prisoner instantly passed their ligaments of bark 
across his arms, and led him from the lodge, amid 
a profound and ominous silence. It was only as the 
figure of Uncas stood in the opening of the door that 
his firm step hesitated. There he turned, and, in 
the sweeping and haughty glance that he threw 
around the circle of his enemies, Duncan caught a 
look which he was glad to construe into an expres¬ 
sion that he was not entirely deserted by hope. 

Magua was content with his success, or too much 
occupied with his secret purposes, to push his in¬ 
quiries any farther. Shaking his mantle, and fold¬ 
ing it on his bosom, he also quitted the place, with¬ 
out pursuing a subject that might have proved so 
fatal to the individual at his elbow. Notwithstand¬ 
ing his rising resentment, his natural firmness, and 
his anxiety in behalf of Uncas, Heyward felt sensibly 
relieved by the absence of so dangerous and so subtle 
a foe. The excitement produced by the speech grad¬ 
ually subsided. The warriors resumed their seats, 
and clouds of smoke once more filled the lodge. For 
near half an hour, not a syllable was uttered, or 
scarcely a look cast aside—a grave and meditative 
silence being in the ordinary succession to every 
scene of violence and commotion amongst those be¬ 
ings, who were alike so impetuous, and yet so self- 
restrained. 

When the chief who had solicited the aid of Dun¬ 
can had finished his pipe, he made a final and suc¬ 
cessful movement towards departing. A motion of 


The Last of the Mohicans 369 

the finger was the intimation he gave the supposed 
physician to follow; and passing through the clouds 
of smoke, Duncan was glad, on more accounts than 
one, to be able at last to breathe the pure air of a 
cool and refreshing summer evening. 

Instead of pursuing his way among those lodges 
where Heyward had already made his unsuccessfuJ 
search, his companion turned aside, and proceeded 
directly toward the base of an adjacent mountain, 
which overhung the temporary village. A thicket 
of brush skirted its foot, and it became necessary to 
proceed through a crooked and narrow path. The 
boys had resumed their sports in the clearing, and 
were enacting a mimic chase to the post among them¬ 
selves. In order to render their games as like the 
reality as possible, one of the boldest of their num¬ 
ber had conveyed a few brands into some piles of 
tree-tops, that had hitherto escaped the burning. 
The blaze of one of these fires lighted the way of 
the chief and Duncan, and gave a character of ad¬ 
ditional wildness to the rude scenery. At a little 
distance from a bald rock, and directly in its front, 
they entered a grassy opening, which they prepared 
to cross, /ust then fresh fuel was added to the nre, 
and a powerful light penetrated even to that distant 
spot. It fell upon the white surface of the moun¬ 
tain, and was reflected downwards upon a dark and 
mysterious-looking being that arose, unexpectedly, 
in their path. 

The Indian paused, as if doubtful whether to pro¬ 
ceed, and permitted his companion to approach his 
side. A large black ball, which at first seemed sta¬ 
tionary, now began to move in a manner that to the 
latter was inexplicable. Again the fire brightened, 
and its glare fell more distinctly on the object. Then 
even Duncan knew it, by its restless and sideling 


370 


The Last of the Mohicans 


attitudes, which kept the upper part of its form in 
constant motion, while the animal itself appeared 
seated, to be a bear . 3 Though it growled loudly and 
fiercely, and there were instants when its glistening 
eyeballs might be seen, it gave no other indications 
of hostility. The Huron, at least, seemed assured 
that the intentions of this singular intruder were 
peaceable, for after giving it an attentive exami¬ 
nation, he quietly pursued his course. 

Duncan, who knew that the animal was often do¬ 
mesticated among the Indians, followed the example 
of his companion, believing that some favorite of 
the tribe had found its way into the thicket, in 
search of food. They passed it unmolested. Though 
obliged to come nearly in contact with the monster, 
the Huron, who had at first so warily determined 
the character of his strange visitor, was now con¬ 
tent with proceeding without wasting a moment in 
further examination; but Heyward was unable to 
prevent his eyes from looking backward, in salutary 
watchfulness against attacks in the rear. His un¬ 
easiness was in no degree diminished when he per¬ 
ceived the beast rolling along their path, and fol¬ 
lowing their footsteps. He would have spoken, but 
the Indian at that moment shoved aside a door of 
.bark, and entered a cavern in the bosom of the 
mountain. 

Profiting by so easy a method of retreat, Duncan 
stepped after him, and was gladly closing the slight 
cover to the opening, when he felt it drawn from 
his hand by the beast, whose shaggy form immedi¬ 
ately darkened the passage. They were now in a 
straight and long gallery, in a chasm of the rocks, 

“There are many testimonies as to Indian mummeries. 
The incident of Leather-Stocking’s successful disguise of 
himself is more plausible than might be thought. 






The Last of the Mohicans 


371 


where retreat without encountering the animal was 
impossible. Making the best of the circumstances, 
the young man pressed forward, keeping as close as 
possible to his conductor. The bear growled fre¬ 
quently at his heels, and once or twice its enormous 
paws were laid on his person, as if disposed to pre¬ 
vent his further passage into the den. 

How long the nerves of Heyward would have sus¬ 
tained him in this extraordinary situation, it might 
be difficult to decide; but, happily, he soon found 
relief. A glimmer of light had constantly been in 
their front, and they now arrived at the place whence 
it proceeded. 

A large cavity in the rock had been rudely fitted 
to answer the purposes of many apartments. The 
subdivisions were simple but ingenious, being com¬ 
posed of stone, sticks, and bark, intermingled. Open¬ 
ings above admitted the light by dajq and at night 
fires and torches supplied the place of the sun. Hith¬ 
er the Hurons had brought most of their valuables, 
especially those which more particularly pertained 
to the nation: and hither, as it now appeared, the 
sick woman, who was believed to be the victim of 
supernatural power, had been transported also, un¬ 
der an impression that her tormenter would find 
more difficulty in making his assaults through walls 
of stone, than through the leafy coverings of the 
lodges. The apartment into which Duncan and his 
guide first entered had been exclusively devoted to 
her accommodation. The latter approached her bed¬ 
side, which was surrounded by females, in the cen¬ 
ter of whom Heyward was surprised to find his miss¬ 
ing friend David. 

A single look was sufficient to apprise the pre¬ 
tended leech that the invalid was far beyond his 
powers of healing. She lay in a sort of paralysis, 


372 


The Last of the Mohicans 


indifferent to the objects which crowded before her 
sight, and happily unconscious of suffering. Hey¬ 
ward was far from regretting that his mummeries 
were to be performed on one who was much too ill 
to take' an interest in their failure or success. The 
slight qualm of conscience which had been excited 
by the intended deception was instantly appeased 
at the sight, and he began busily to collect his 
thoughts, in order to enact his part with suitable 
spirit, when he found he was about to be anticipated 
in his skill by an attempt to prove the power of 
music. 

Gamut, who had stood prepared to pour forth his 
spirit in song when the visitors entered, after delay¬ 
ing a moment, drew a strain from his pipe, an ; d 
commenced a hymn that might have worked a mir¬ 
acle, had faith in its efficacy been of much avail. 
He was allowed to proceed to the close, the Indians 
respecting his imaginary infirmity, and Duncan too 
glad of the delay to hazard the slightest interrup¬ 
tion. As the dying cadence of his strains was fall¬ 
ing on the ears of the latter, he started aside at 
hearing them repeated behind him, in a voice half 
human and half sepulchral. Looking around, he 
beheld the shaggy monster seated on end, in a shad¬ 
ow of the cavern, where, while his restless body 
swung in the uneasy manner of the animal, it re¬ 
peated, in a sort of low growl, sounds, if not words, 
which bore some slight resemblance to the melody 
of the singer. 

The effect of so strange an echo on David may 
better be imagined than described. His eyes opened 
as if he doubted their truth; and his voice became 
instantly mute in excess of wonder. A deep-laid 
scheme, of communicating some important intelli¬ 
gence to Heyward, was driven from his recollection 


The Last of the Mohicans 


373 


by an emotion which very nearly resembled fear, 
but which he was fain to believe was admiration. 
Under its influence, he exclaimed aloud, “She ex¬ 
pects you, and is at hand,” and precipitately left 
the cavern. 


CHAPTER XXV 


XnuyL —‘Have you the lion's part written? Pray you, if it 
be, give it me, for I am slow of study.’’ 

Quince .—“You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but 
roaring.” 

—Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, I, ii. 

There was a strange blending of the ridiculous 
with that which was solemn in this scene. The 
beast still continued its rolling, and apparently un¬ 
tiring movements, though its ludicrous attempt to 
imitate the melody of David ceased the instant the 
latter abandoned the field. The words of Gamut 
were, as has been seen, in his native tongue; and 
to Duncan they seemed pregnant with some hidden 
meaning, though nothing present assisted him in 
discovering the object of their allusion. A speedy 
end was, however, put to every conjecture >on the 
subject, by the manner of the chief, who advanced 
to the bedside of the invalid, and beckoned away the 
whole group of female attendants that had clus¬ 
tered there to witness the skill of the stranger. He 
was implicitly, though reluctantly, obeyed; and 
when the low echo which rang along the hollow nat- 
ural gallery from the distant closing door had ceased, 
pointing towards his insensible daughter, he said— 

“Nov let my brother show his power.” 

Thus unequivocally called on to exercise the func¬ 
tions of his assumed character, Heyward was appre¬ 
hensive that the smallest delay might prove dan¬ 
gerous. Endeavoring then to collect his ideas, he 
prepared to perform that species of incantation, and 
those uncouth rites, under which the Indian con¬ 
jurers are accustomed to conceal their ignorance 
and impotency. It is more than probable that, in 
the disordered state of his thoughts, he would soon 
[ 374 ] 


The Last of the Mohicans 


375 


have fallen into some suspicious, if not fatal error, 
had not his incipient attempts been interrupted by 
a fierce growl from the quadruped. Three several 
times did he renew his efforts to proceed, and as 
often was he met by the same unaccountable oppo¬ 
sition, each interruption seeming more savage and 
threatening than the preceding. 

“The cunning ones are jealous,” said the Huron. 
“I go. Brother, the woman is the wife of one of 
my bravest young men. Deal justly by her. Peace!” 
he added, beckoning to the discontented beast to be 
quiet, “I go.” 

The chief was as good as his word, and Duncan 
now found himself alone in that wild and desolate 
abode, with the helpless invalid, and the fierce and 
dangerous brute. The latter listened to the move¬ 
ments of the T ndian with that air of sagacity that 
a bear is known to possess, until another echo an¬ 
nounced that he had also left the cavern, when it 
turned and came waddling up to Duncan, before 
whom it seated itself, in its natural attitude, erect 
like a man. The youth looked anxiously about him 
for some weapon, with which he might make a re¬ 
sistance against the attack he now seriously ex¬ 
pected. 

It seemed, however, as if the humor of the animal 
had suddenly changed. Instead of continuing its 
discontented growls, or manifesting any further 
signs of anger, the whole of its shaggy body shook 
violently, as though it were agitated by some strange 
internal convulsion. The huge and unwieldy talons 
pawed stupidly about the grinning muzzle, and while 
Heyward kept his eyes riveted on its movements 
with jealous watchfulness, the grim head fell on 
one side, and in its place appeared the honest, 
sturdy countenance of the scout, who was indulging, 


376 The Last ofr the Mohicans 

from the bottom of his soul, in his own peculiar ex¬ 
pression of merriment. 

“Hist!” said the wary woodsman, interrupting 
Heyward’s exclamation of surprise. “The varlets 
are about the place, and any sounds that are not 
natural to witchcraft would bring them back upon 
us in a body!’’ 

“Tell me the meaning of this masquerade; and 
why you have attempted so desperate an adventure?” 

“Ah! reason and calculation are often outdone by 
accident,” returned the scout. “But as a story should 
always commence at the beginning, I will tell you 
the whole in order. After we parted, I placed the 
Commandant and the Sagamore in an old beaver 
lodge, where they are safer from the Hurons than 
they would be in the garrison of Edward; for your 
high nor-west Indians, not having as yet got the 
traders much among them, continue to venerate the 
beaver. After which, Uncas and I pushed for the 
other encampment, as was agreed. Have you seen 
the lad?” 

“To my great grief!—he is captive, and con¬ 
demned to die at the rising of the sun.” 

“I had misgivings that such would be his fate,” 
resumed the scout, in a less confident and joyous 
tone. But soon regaining his naturally firm voice, 
he continued. “His bad fortune is the true reason 
of my being here, for it would never do to abandon 
such a boy to the Hurons! A rare time the knaves 
would have of it, could they tie The Bounding Elk 
and The Longue Carabine, as they call me, to the 
same stake! Though why they have given me such 
a name I never knew, there being as little likeness 
between the gifts of ‘Killdeer’ and the performance 
of one of your real Canada carabynes, as there is 
between the natur of a pipe-stone and a flint!” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


377 


“Keep to your tale,” said the impatient Heyward. 
“We know not at what moment the Hurons may re¬ 
turn.” 

“No fear of them. A conjurer must have his time, 
like a straggling priest in the settlements. We are 
as safe from interruption as a missionary would be 
at the beginning of a two hours’ discourse. Well, 
Uncas and I fell in with a return party of the var- 
lets; the lad was much too forward for a scour; 
nay, for that matter, being of hot blood, he was not 
so much to blame; and, after all, one of the Hurons 
proved a coward, and in fleeing, led him into an am- 
bushment.” 

“And dearly has he paid for his weakness!” ex¬ 
claimed Duncan. 

The scout significantly passed his hand across his 
own throat, and nodded, as if he said, “I comprehend 
your meaning.” After which, he continued, in a 
more audible, though scarcely more intelligible 
language— 

“After the loss of the boy, I turned upon the Hu¬ 
rons, as you may judge. There have been scrim¬ 
mages atween one or two of their outlyers and my¬ 
self; but that is neither here nor there. So, after 
I had shot the imps, I got in pretty nigh to the 
lodges without further commotion. Then, what 
should luck do in my favor, but lead me to the very 
spot where one of the most famous conjurers of 
the tribe was dressing himself, as I well knew, for 
some great battle with Satan—though why should I 
call that luck, which it now seems was an especial 
ordering of Providence? So, a judgmatical rap over 
the head stiffened the lying impostor for a time, 
and leaving him a bit of walnut for his supper, to 
prevent any uproar, and stringing him up atween 
two saplings, I made free with his finery, and took 


378 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the part of a bear on myself, in order that the oper¬ 
ations might proceed.” 

“And admirably did you enact the character! The 
animal itself might have been shamed by the repre¬ 
sentation.” 

“Lord, Major,” returned the flattered woodsman, 
“I should be but a poor scholar for one who has^ 
studied so long in the wilderness, did I not know 
how to set forth the movements and natur of such a 
beast. Had it been now a catamount, or even a full- 
sized panther, I would have embellished a perform¬ 
ance for you worth regarding. But it is no such 
marvelous feat to exhibit the feats of so dull a 
beast; though, for that matter too, a bear may be 
overacted. Yes, yes; it is not every imitator that 
knows natur may be outdone easier than she is 
equaled. But all our work is yet before us. Where 
is the gentle one?” 

“Heaven knows. I have examined every lodge in 
the village, without discovering the slightest trace 
of her presence in the tribe.” 

“You heard what the singer said, as he left us, 
‘She is at hand, and expects you’?” 

“I have been compelled to believe he alluded to 
this unhappy woman.” 

“The simpleton was frightened, and blundered 
through his message; but he had a deeper meaning. 
Here are walls enough to separate the whole settle¬ 
ment. A bear ought to climb; therefore will I take 
a look above them. There may be honey-pots hid in 
these rocks, and I am a beast, you know, that has a 
hankering for the sweets.” 

The scout looked behind him, laughing at his own 
conceit, while he clambered up the partition, imi¬ 
tating, as he went, the clumsy motions of the beast 
he represented; but the instant the summit was 


The Last of the Mohicans 


379 


gained he made a gesture for silence, and slid down 
with the utmost precipitation. 

'‘She is here,” he whispered, “and by that door 
you will find her. I would have spoken a'word of 
comfort to the afflicted soul; but the sight of such 
a monster might upset her reason. Though for that 
matter, Major, you are none of the most inviting 
yourself in your paint.” 

Duncan, who had already sprung eagerly forward, 
drew instantly back on hearing these discouraging 
words. 

“Am I, then, so very revolting?” he demanded, 
with an air of chagrin. 

“You might not startle a wolf, or turn the Royal 
Americans from a charge; but I have seen the time 
when you had a better-favored look; your streaked 
countenances are not ill-judged of by the squaws, 
but young women of white blood give the preference 
to their own color. See,” he added, pointing to a 
place where the water trickled from a rock, forming 
a little crystal spring before it found an issue 
through the adjacent crevices. “You may easily get 
rid of the Sagamore’s daub, and when you come 
back I will try my hand at a new embellishment. 
’Tis as common for a conjurer to alter his paint 
as for a buck in the settlements to change his 
finery.” 

The deliberate woodsman had little occasion to 
hunt for arguments to enforce his advice. He was 
yet speaking, when Duncan availed himself of the 
water. In a moment, every frightful or offensive 
mark was obliterated, and the youth appeared again 
in the fine and polished lineaments with which he 
had been gifted by nature. Thus prepared for an 
interview with his mistress, he took a hasty leave of 
his companion, and disappeared through the indicat- 


380 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ed passage. The scout witnessed his departure with 
complacency, nodding his head after him, and mut¬ 
tering his good wishes; after which, he very coolly 
set about an examination of the state of the larder 
among the Hurons—the cavern, among other pur¬ 
poses, being u^ed as a receptacle for the fruits of 
their hunts. 

Duncan had no other guide than a distant glim¬ 
mering light, which served, however, the office of 
a polar star to the lover. By its aid he was enabled 
to enter the haven of his hopes, which was merely 
another apartment of the cavern, that had been 
solely appropriated to the safe-keeping of so im¬ 
portant a prisoner as a daughter of the command¬ 
ant of William Henry. It was profusely strewed 
with the plunder of that unlucky fortress. In the 
midst of this confusion, he found the maiden, pale, 
anxious, and terrified; but still lovely. David had 
prepared her for such a visit. 

“Duncan!” she exclaimed, in a voice that seemed 
to tremble at the sounds created by itself. 

“Alice!” he answered, leaping carelessly among 
trunks, boxes, arms, and furniture, until he stood at 
her side. 

“I knew, Duncan, that you would never desert 
me,” she said, looking up with a momentary glow of 
pleasure beaming on her otherwise dejected coun¬ 
tenance. “But you are alone! Grateful as it is to 
be thus remembered, I could wish to think you are 
not entirely alone!” 

Duncan, observing that she trembled in a manner 
which betrayed an inability to continue standing, 
gently induced her to be seated, while he recounted 
those leading incidents which it has been our task 
to record. Alice listened with breathless interest; 
and though the young man touched lightly on the 


The Last of the Mohicans 


381 


sorrows of the stricken father, taking care, however, 
not to wound the self-love of his auditor, the tears 
ran as freely down the cheeks of the daughter as 
though she had never wept before. The soothing 
tenderness of Duncan, however, soon quieted the 
first burst of her emotions, and she then heard him 
to the close with undivided attention, if not with 
composure. 

“And now, Alice,” he added, “you will see how 
much is still expected of you. By the assistance of 
our experienced and invaluable friend, the scout, 
we may find our way from this savage people, but 
you will have to exert your utmost fortitude. Re¬ 
member that you fly to the arms of your venerable 
parent, and how much his happiness, as well as 
your own, depends on those exertions.” 

“Can I do otherwise for a father who has done so 
much for me?” 

“And for me too,” continued the youth, gently 
pressing the hand he held in both his own. 

The look of innocence and surprise which he re¬ 
ceived in return convinced Duncan of the necessity 
of being more explicit. 

“This is neither the place nor the occasion to de¬ 
tain you with selfish wishes,” he added. “But what 
heart loaded like mine would not wish to cast its 
burden? They say misery is the closest of all ties. 
Our common suffering in your behalf left but little 
to be explained between your father and myself.” 

“And dearest Cora, Duncan; surely Cora was not 
forgotten?” 

“Not forgotten; no, regretted, as woman was sel¬ 
dom mourned before. Your venerable father knew 
no difference between his children; but—Alice, you 
will not be offended when I say that to me her worth 
was in a degree obscured—” 


382 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Then you knew not the merit of my sister/’ said 
Alice, withdrawing her hand. “Of you she ever 
speaks as of one who is her dearest friend.” 

“I would gladly believe her such,” returned Dun¬ 
can, hastily. “I could wish her to be even more; 
but with you, Alice, I have the permission of your 
father to aspire to a still nearer and dearer tie.” 

Alice trembled violently, and there was an instant 
during which she bent her face aside, yielding to 
the emotions common to her sex ; 1 but they quickly 
passed away, leaving her mistress of her deportment, 
if not of her affections. 

“Heyward,” she said, looking him full in the eye, 
with a touching expression of innocence and de¬ 
pendency, “give me the sacred presence and the holy 
sanction of that parent, before you urge me far¬ 
ther.” 

“Though more I should not, less I could not say,” 
the youth was about to answer, when he was inter¬ 
rupted by a light tap on his shoulder. Starting to 
his feet, he turned, and confronting the intruder, 
his looks fell on the dark form and malignant vis¬ 
age of Magua. The deep, guttural laugh of the sav¬ 
age, sounded at such a moment, to Duncan, like the 
hellish taunt of a demon. Had he pursued the sud¬ 
den and fierce impulse of the instant, he would have 
cast himself on the Huron, and committed their for¬ 
tunes to the issue of a deadly struggle. But, with¬ 
out arms of any description, ignorant of what suc¬ 
cors his subtle enemy could command, and charged 
with the safety of one who was just then dearer 
than ever to his heart, he no sooner entertained, 
than he abandoned the desperate intention. 

“What is your purpose?” said Alice, meekly fold¬ 
ing her arms on her bosom, and struggling to con- 

J In the first edition ’’common to her sensitive sex ” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


383 


ceal an agony of apprehension in behalf of Hey¬ 
ward, in the usual cold and distant manner with 
which she received the visits of her captor. 

The exulting Indian had resumed his austere 
countenance, though he drew warily back before the 
menacing glance of the young man’s fiery eye. He 
regarded both his captives for a moment with a 
steady look, and then stepping aside, he dropped a 
log of wood across a door different from that by 
which Duncan had entered. The latter now compre¬ 
hended the manner of his surprise, and believing 
himself irretrievably lost, he drew Alice to his bos¬ 
om, and stood prepared to meet a fate which he hard¬ 
ly regretted, since it was to be suffered in such com¬ 
pany. But Magua meditated no immediate violence. 
His first measures were very evidently taken 
to secure his new captive; nor did he even bestow 
a second glance at the motionless forms in the cen¬ 
ter of the cavern, until he had completely cut off 
every hope of retreat through the private outlet he 
had himself used. He was watched in all his move¬ 
ments by Heyward, who, however, remained firm, 
still folding the fragile form of Alice to his heart, 
at once too proud and too hopeless to ask favor of 
an enemy so often foiled. When Magua had effected 
his object he approached his prisoners, and said in 
English— 

“The pale-faces trap the cunning beavers; but the 
red-skins know how to take the Yengeese.” 

“Huron, do your worst!” exclaimed the excited 
Heyward, forgetful that a double stake was involved 
in his life. “You and your vengeance are alike de¬ 
spised.” 

“Will the white man speak these words at the 
stake?” asked Magua; manifesting, at the same time, 


384 


The Last of the Mohicans 


how little faith he had in the other’s resolution by 
the sneer that accompanied his words. 

“Here; singly to your face, or in the presence of 
your nation.” 

“Le Renard Subtil is a great chief!” returned the 
Indian. “He will go and bring his young men to see 
how bravely a pale-face can laugh at the tortures.” 

He turned away while speaking, and was about 
to leave the place through the avenue by which Dun¬ 
can had approached, when a growl caught his ear, 
and caused him to hesitate. The figure of the bear 
appeared in the door, where it sat rolling from side 
to side in its customary restlessness. Magua, like the 
father of the sick woman, eyed it keenly for a mo¬ 
ment, as if to ascertain its character. He was far 
above the more vulgar superstitions of his tribe, 
and so soon as he recognized the well-known attire 
of the conjurer, he prepared to pass it in cool con¬ 
tempt. But a louder and more threatening growl 
caused him again to pause. Then he seemed as if 
suddenly resolved to trifle no longer, and moved res¬ 
olutely forward. The mimic animal, which had ad¬ 
vanced a little, retired slowly in his front, until it 
arrived again at the pass, when rearing on its hinder 
legs it beat the air with its paws, in the manner 
practised by its brutal prototype. 

“Fool!” exclaimed the chief in Huron, “go play 
with the children and squaws; leave men to their 
wisdom.” 

He once more endeavored to pass the supposed em¬ 
piric, scorning even the parade of threatening to 
use the knife, or tomahawk, that was pendent from 
his belt. Suddenly the beast extended its arms, or 
rather legs, and inclosed him in a grasp that might 
have vied with the far-famed power of the “bear’s 
hug” itself. Heyward had watched the whole pro- 


The Last or the Mohicans 385 

cedure, on the part of Hawkeye, with breathless in¬ 
terest. At first he relinquished his hold of Alice; 
then he caught up a thong of buckskin, which had 
been used around some bundle, and when he beheld 
his enemy with his two arms pinned- to his side by 
the iron muscles of the scout, he rushed upon him, 
and effectually secured them there. Arms, legs, and 
feet were encircled in twenty folds of the thong, in 
less time than we have- taken to record the circum¬ 
stance. When the formidable Huron was completely 
pinioned, the seout released his hold, and Duncan 
laid his enemy on his back, utterly helpless. 

Throughout the whole of this sudden and extra¬ 
ordinary operation, Magua, though he had struggled 
violently, until assured he was in the hands of one 
whose nerves were far better strung than his -own, 
had not uttered the slightest exclamation. But when 
Hawkeye, by way of making a summary explanation 
of his conduct, removed the shaggy jaws of the 
beast, and exposed his own rugged and earnest coun¬ 
tenance to the gaze of the Huron, the philosophy of 
the latter was se far mastered as to permit him to 
utter the never-failing— 

“Hugh!” 

“Aye! you’ve found your tongue,” said his undis¬ 
turbed conqueror. “Now, in order that you shall not 
use it to our ruin, I must make free to stop your 
mouth.” 

As there was no time to be lost, the scout im¬ 
mediately set about effecting so necessary a precau¬ 
tion ; and when he had gagged the Indian, his enemy 
might safely have been considered as hors de com¬ 
bat . 2 

“By what place did the imp enter?” asked the in¬ 
dustrious scout, when his work was ended. “Not 


*This French phrase means disabled, out of the fight. 



386 


The Last of the Mohicans 


a soul has passed my way since you left me.” 

Duncan pointed out the door by which Magua had 
come, and which now presented too many obstacles 
to a quick retreat. 

“Bring on the gentle one then,” continued his 
friend. “We must make a push for the woods by 
the other outlet.” 

“’Tis impossible!” said Duncan. “Fear has over¬ 
come her, and she is helpless. Alice! my sweet, my 
own Alice, arouse yourself. Now is the moment to 
fly. ’Tis in vain, she hears, but is unable to follow. 
Go, noble and worthy friend; save yourself, and leave 
me to my fate!” 

“Every trail has its end, and every calamity brings 
its lesson!” returned the scout. “There, wrap her in 
them Indian clothes. Conceal all of her little form. 
Nay, that foot has no fellow in the wilderness, it 
will betray her. All, every part. Now take her in 
your arms, and follow. Leave the rest to me.” 

Duncan, as may be gathered from the words of 
his companion, was eagerly obeying; and as the oth¬ 
er finished speaking, he took the light person of 
Alice in his arms, and followed on the footsteps of 
the scout. They found the sick woman as they had 
left her, still alone, and passed swiftly on , 3 by the 

3 Having removed his disguise Duncan would now look 
English rather than French. There are many improba¬ 
bilities in this chapter. The obliviousness to the passing 
of time, at a critical moment, shown by Heyward and the 
scout while they talk, is so unlikely and so unwise as 
to need more explanation than is offered. The appearance 
of Magua at the crisis is not explained. Duncan is made 
to remove his disguise, despite the risk involved, before 
seeing Alice. This is forgotten when he makes his exit, 
or at least nothing is said of the change in his appearance 
which the scout suggests earlier as easily possible. The 
Indians seem to overlook it as well as the author. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


387 


natural gallery, to the place of entrance. As they 
approached the little door of bark, a murmur of 
voices without announced that the friends and rel¬ 
atives of the invalid were gathered about the place, 
patiently awaiting a summons to reenter. 

“If I open my lips to speak,” Hawkeye whispered, 
“my English, which is the genuine tongue of a white- 
skin, will tell the varlets that an enemy is among 
them. You must give ’em your jargon, Major, and 
say that we have shut the evil spirits in the cave, 
and are taking the woman to the woods, in order to 
find strengthening roots. Practyse all your cunning, 
for it is a lawful undertaking.” 

The door opened a little, as if one without was 
listening to the proceedings within, and compelled 
the scout to cease his directions. A fierce growl in¬ 
stantly repelled the eavesdropper, and then the 
scout boldly threw open the covering of bark, and 
left the place, enacting the character of the bear 
as he proceeded. Duncan kept close at his heels, and 
soon found himself in the center of a cluster of twen¬ 
ty anxious relatives and friends. 

The crowd fell back a little, and permitted the 
father, and one who appeared to be the husband of 
the woman, to approach. 

“Has my brother driven away the evil spirit?” de¬ 
manded the former. “What has he in his arms?” 

“Thy child,” returned Duncan, gravely. “The dis¬ 
ease has gone out of her; it is shut up in the rocks. 
I take the woman to a distance where I will strength¬ 
en her against any further attacks. She shall be 
in the wigwam of the young man when the sun 
comes again.” 

When the father had translated the meaning of 
the stranger’s words into the Huron language, a 
suppressed murmur announced the satisfaction with 


388 


The Last of the Mohicans 


which this intelligence was received. The chief him¬ 
self waved his hand for Duncan to proceed, saying 
aloud, in a firm voice, and with a lofty manner— 

“Go—I am a man, and I will enter the rock, and 
fight the wicked one!” 

Heyward had gladly obeyed, and was already past 
the little group, when these startling words arrested 
him— 

“Is my brother mad!” he exclaimed. “Is he cruel! 
He will meet the disease, and it will enter him; or 
he will drive out the disease, and it; will chase his 
daughter into the woods. No—let my children wait 
without, and if the spirit appears, beat him down 
with clubs. He is cunning and will bury himself in 
the mountain, therefore, when he sees how many are 
prepared to fight him.” 

This singular warning had the desired effect. In¬ 
stead of entering the cavern, the father and husband 
drew their tomahawks, and posted themselves in 
readiness to deal their vengeance on the imaginary 
tormentor of their sick relative, while the women 
and children broke branches from the bushes, or 
seized fragments of the rock, with a similar inten¬ 
tion. At this favorable moment the counterfeit con¬ 
jurers disappeared. 

Hawkeye, at the same time that he had presumed 
so far on the nature of the Indian superstitions, was 
not ignorant that they were rather tolerated than 
relied on by the wisest of the chiefs. He well knew 
the value of time in the present emergency. What¬ 
ever might be the extent of the self-delusion of his 
enemies, and however it had tended to assist his 
schemes, the slightest cause of suspicion, acting on 
the subtle nature of an Indian, would be likely to 
prove fatal. Taking the path, therefore, that was 
most likely to avoid observation, he rather skirted 


The Last of the Mohicans 


389 


than entered the village. The warriors were still to 
be seen in the distance, by the fading light of the 
fires, stalking from lodge to lodge. But the children 
had abandoned their sports for their beds of skins, 
and the quiet of night was already beginning to pre¬ 
vail over the turbulence and excitement of so busy 
and important an evening. 

Alice revived under the renovating influence of 
the open air, and as her physical rather than her 
mental powers had been the subject of weakness, 
she stood in no need of any explanation of that which 
had occurred. 

“Now let me make an effort to walk,” she said, 
when they had entered the forest, blushing, though 
unseen, that she had not been sooner able to quit the 
arms of Duncan. “I am indeed restored.” 

“Nay, Alice, you are yet too weak.” 

The maiden struggled gently to release herself, 
and Heyward was compelled to part with his pre¬ 
cious burden . 4 The representative of the bear had 
certainly been an entire stranger to the delicious 
emotions of the lover while his arms encircled his 
mistress; and he was, perhaps, a stranger also to 
the nature of that feeling of ingenuous shame that 
oppressed the trembling Alice. But when he found 
himself at a suitable distance from the lodges he 
made a halt, and spoke on a subject of which he was 
thoroughly the master. 

“This path will lead you to the brook,” he said. 
“Follow its northern bank until you come to a fall; 
and mount the hill on your right, and you will see 
the fires of the other people. There you must go and 
demand protection. If they are true Delawares, you 
will be safe. A distant flight with that gentle one, 
just now, is impossible. The Hurons would follow 


4 In the first edition ‘‘burthen.” 



390 


The Last of the Mohicans 


up our trail, and master our scalps, before we had 
got a dozen miles. Go, and Providence be with you.” 

“And you!” demanded Heyward, in surprise. 
“Surely we part not here?” 

“The Hurons hold the pride of the Delawares. The 
last of the high blood of the Mohicans is in their 
power,” returned the scout. “I go to see what can 
be done in his favor. Had they mastered your scalp, 
Major, a knave should have fallen for every hair it 
held, as I promised; but if the young Sagamore is 
to be led to the stake, the Indians shall see also how 
a man without a cross can die.” 

Not in the least offended with the decided prefer¬ 
ence that the sturdy woodsman gave to one who 
might, in some degree, be called the child of his 
adoption, Duncan still continued to urge such rea¬ 
sons, against so desperate an effort, as presented 
themselves. He was aided by Alice, who mingled her 
entreaties with those of Heyward that he would aban¬ 
don a resolution that promised so much danger, 
with so little hope of success. Their eloquence and 
ingenuity were expended in vain. The scout heard 
them attentively, but impatiently, and finally closed 
the discussion, by answering, in a tone that instantly 
silenced Alice, while it told Heyward how fruitless 
any further remonstrances would be— 

“I have heard,” he said, “that there is a feeling 
in youth which binds man to woman closer than the 
father is tied to the son. It may be so. I have sel¬ 
dom been where women of my color dwell; but such 
may be the gifts of nature in the settlements. You 
have risked life, and all that is dear to you, to bring 
off this gentle one, and I suppose that some such dis¬ 
position is at the bottom of it all. As for me, I taught 
the lad the real character of a rifle, and well has 
he paid me for it. I have fou’t at his side in many 


The Last of the Mohicans 


391 


a bloody scrimmage; and so long as I could hear the 
crack of his piece in one ear, and that of the Sagamore 
in the other, I knew no enemy was on my back. Win¬ 
ters and summers, nights and days, have we roved 
the wilderness in company, eating of the same dish, 
one sleeping while the other watched; and afore it 
shall be said that Uncas was taken to the torment, 
and I at hand— There is but a single Ruler of us 
all, whatever may be the color of the skin, and Him 
I call to witness, that before the Mohican boy shall 
perish for the want of a friend, good faith shall de¬ 
part the ’arth, and ‘Killdeer’ become as harmless as 
the tooting we’pon of the singer!” 

Duncan released his hold on the arm of the scout, 
who turned, and steadily retraced his steps toward 
the lodges. After pausing a moment to gaze at his 
retiring form, the successful and yet sorrowful Hey¬ 
ward and Alice 5 took their way together towards the 
distant village of the Delawares. 


a In the first edition “Heyward and his mistress.” 



CHAPTER XXVI 


Bot. “Let iD^i play tlie lion too.” 

—Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, I, ii. 

Notwithstanding the high resolution of Hawkeye, 
he fully comprehended all the difficulties and dan¬ 
gers he was about to incur. In his return to the 
camp, his acute and practised intellects were in¬ 
tently engaged in devising means to counteract a 
watchfulness and suspicion on the part of his ene¬ 
mies, that he knew in no degree inferior to his own. 
Nothing but the color of his skin saved the lives of 
iVtagua and the conjurer, who would have been the 
first victims to his security had not the scout be¬ 
lieved such an act, however congenial it might be 
to the nature of an Indian, utterly unworthy of one 
who boasted a descent from men that knew no cross 
of blood. Accordingly, he trusted to the withes and 
ligaments with which he had bound his captives, and 
pursued his way directly towards the center of the 
lodges. 

As he approached the buildings, his steps became 
more deliberate, and his vigilant eye suffered no 
sign, whether friendly or hostile, to escape him. A 
neglected hut was a little in advance of the others, 
and appeared as though it had been deserted when 
half completed—most probably on account of failing 
in some of the more important requisites; such as 
wood or water. A faint light glimmered through its 
cracks, however, and announced that, notwithstand¬ 
ing its imperfect structure, it was not now without 
a tenant. Thither, then, the scout proceeded, like 
a prudent general, who was about to feel the ad¬ 
vanced positions of his enemy, before he hazarded 
his main attack. 

Throwing himself into a suitable posture for the 
[ 392 ] 


The Last of the Mohicans 


393 


beast he represented, Hawkeye crawled to a little 
opening where he might command a view of the in¬ 
terior. It proved to be the abiding place of David 
Gamut. Hither the faithful singing master had now 
brought himself, together with all his sorrows, his 
apprehensions, and his meek dependence on the pro¬ 
tection of Providence. At the precise moment when 
his ungainly person came under the observation of 
the scout, in the manner just mentioned, the woods¬ 
man himself, though in his assumed character, was 
the subject of the solitary being’s profoundest re¬ 
flections. 

However implicit the faith of David was in the 
performance of ancient miracles, he eschewed the 
belief of any direct supernatural agency in the man¬ 
agement of modern morality. In other words, while 
he had implicit faith in the ability of Balaam’s ass 
to speak, he was somewhat skeptical on the subject 
of a bear’s singing; and yet he had been assured of 
the latter, on the testimony of his own exquisite or¬ 
gans! There was something in his air and manner, 
that betrayed to the scout the utter confusion of the 
state of his mind. He was seated on a pile of brush, 
a few twigs from which occasionally fed his low 
fire, with his head leaning on his arm, in a posture 
of melancholy musing. The costume of the votary 
of music had undergone no other alteration from 
that so lately described, except that he had covered 
his bald head with the triangular beaver, which had 
not proved sufficiently alluring to excite the cupid¬ 
ity of any of his captors. 

The ingenious Hawkeye, who recalled the hasty 
manner in which the other had abandoned his post 
at the bedside of the sick woman, was not without 
his suspicions concerning the subject of so much 
solemn deliberation. First making the circuit of 


394 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the hut, and ascertaining that it stood quite alone, 
and that the character of its inmate was likely to 
protect it from visitors, he ventured through its low 
door, into the very presence of Gamut. The position 
of the latter brought the fire between them; and 
when Hawkeye had seated himself on end, near a 
minute elapsed, during which the two remained re¬ 
garding each other without speaking. The sudden¬ 
ness and the nature of the surprise had nearly 
proved too much for—we will not say the philosophy 
—but for the faith and resolution of David. He 
fumbled for his pitch-pipe, and arose with a con¬ 
fused intention of attempting a musical exorcism. 

“Dark and mysterious monster!” he exclaimed, 
while with trembling hands he disposed of his aux¬ 
iliary eyes, and sought his never-failing resource in 
trouble, the gifted version of the Psalms, “I know 
not your nature nor intents; but if aught you medi¬ 
tate against the person and rights of one of the hum¬ 
blest servants of the temple, listen to the inspired 
language of the youth of Israel, and repent.” 

The bear shook his shaggy sides, and then a well- 
known voice replied,— 

“Put up the tooting we’pon, and teach .your throat 
modesty. Five words of plain and comprehensible 
English are worth, just now, an hour of squalling.” 

“What art thou?” demanded David, utterly dis¬ 
qualified to pursue his original intention, and nearly 
gasping for breath. 

“A man like yourself; and one whose blood is as 
little tainted by the cross of a bear, or an Indian, as 
your own. Have you so soon forgotten from whom 
you received the foolish instrument you hold in 
your hand?” 

“Can these things be?” returned David, breathing 
more freely, as the truth began to dawn upon him. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


895 


“I have found many marvels during my sojourn with 
the heathen, but surely nothing to excel this!” 

“Come, come,” returned Hawkeye, uncasing his 
honest countenance, the better to assure the waver¬ 
ing confidence of his companion. “You may see a 
skin, which, if it be not as white as one of the gentle 
ones, has no tinge of,red to it that the winds of 
the heaven and the sun have not bestowed. Now 
let us to business.” 

“First tell me of the maiden, and of the youth 
who so bravely sought her,” interrupted David. 

“Aye, they are happily freed from the tomahawks 
of these varlets. But can you put me on the scent 
of Uneas?” 

“The young man is in bondage, and much I fear 
his death is decreed. I greatly mourn that one so 
well disposed should die in his ignorance, and I 
have sought a goodly hymn—” 

“Can you lead me to him?” 

“The task will not be difficult,” returned David, 
hesitating, “though I greatly fear your presence 
would rather increase than mitigate his unhappy 
fortunes.” 

“No more words, but lead on,” returned Hawkeye, 
concealing his face again, and setting the example 
In his own person, by instantly quitting the lodge. 

As they proceeded, the scout ascertained that his 
companion found access to Uncas, under privilege of 
his imaginary infirmity, aided by the favor he had 
acquired with one of the guards, who, in conse¬ 
quence of speaking a little English, had been se¬ 
lected by David as the subject of a religious con¬ 
version. How far the Huron comprehended the in¬ 
tentions of his new friend may well be doubted; but 
as exclusive attention is as flattering to a savage 
as to a more civilized individual, it had, assuredly, 


396 


The Last of the Mohicans 


produced the effect we have mentioned. It is un¬ 
necessary to repeat the shrewd manner with which 
the scout extracted these particulars from the sim¬ 
ple David, neither shall we dwell in this place on 
the nature of the instructions he delivered, when 
completely master of all the necessary facts, as the 
whole will be sufficiently explained to the reader 
in the course of the narrative. 

The lodge in which Uncas was confined was in the 
very center of the village, and in a situation, per¬ 
haps, more difficult than any other to approach or 
leave without observation. But it was not the pol¬ 
icy of Hawkeye to affect the least concealment. Pre¬ 
suming on his disguise, and his ability to sustain 
the character he had assumed, he took the most plain 
and direct route to the place. The houy, however, 
afforded him some little of that protection, which 
he appeared so much to despise. The boys were al¬ 
ready buried in sleep, and all the women, and most 
of the warriors, had now retired to their lodges for 
the night. Four or five of the latter only lingered 
about the door of the prison of Uncas, wary but 
close observers of the manner of their captive. 

At the sight of Gamut, accompanied by one in the 
well-known masquerade of their most distinguished 
conjurer, they readily made way for them both. Still 
they betrayed no intention to depart. On the other 
hand, they were evidently disposed to remain bound 
to the place by an additional interest in the myster¬ 
ious mummeries that they of course expected from 
such a visit. 

From the total inability of the scout to address 
the Hurons in their own language, he was compelled 
to trust the conversation entirely to David. Not¬ 
withstanding the simplicity of the latter, he did am¬ 
ple justice to the instructions he had received, more 


The Last of the Mohicans 


397 


than fulfilling the strongest hopes of his teacher. 

“The Delawares are women!'’ he exclaimed, ad¬ 
dressing himself to the savage who had a slight un¬ 
derstanding of the language in which he spoke. “The 
Yengeese, my foolish countrymen, have told them 
to take up the tomahawk, and strike their fathers 
in the Canadas, and they have forgotten their sex. 
Does my brother wish to hear ‘Le Cerf Agile’ ask 
for his petticoats, and see him weep before the Hu- 
rons, at the stake?” 

The exclamation “Hugh!” delivered in a strong 
tone of assent, announced the gratification the sav¬ 
age would receive in witnessing such an exhibition 
of weakness in an enemy so long hated and so much 
feared. 

“Then let him step aside, and the cunning man 
will blow upon the dog! Tell it to my brothers.” 

The Huron explained the meaning of David to his 
fellows, who, in their turn, listened to the project 
with that sort of satisfaction that their untamed 
spirits might be expected to find in such a refine¬ 
ment in cruelty. They drew back a little from the 
entrance, and motioned to the supposed co/njurer 
to enter. But the bear, instead of obeying, main¬ 
tained the seat it had taken, and growled. 

“The cunning man is afraid that his breath will 
blow upon his brothers, and take away their cour¬ 
age too,” continued David, improving the hint he 
received. “They must stand farther 1 off.’" 

The Hurons, who would have deemed such a mis¬ 
fortune the heaviest calamity that could befall them, 
fell back in a body, taking a position where they 
were out of earshot, though at the same time they 
could command a view of the entrance to the lodge. 

Then, as if satisfied of their safety, the scout left 

*In the first edition “further off.” 



398 


The Last of the Mohicans 


Lis position, and slowly entered the place. It was 
silent and gloomy, being tenanted solely by the cap¬ 
tive, and lighted by the dying embers of a lire, whicft 
had been used for the purposes of cookery. 

Uncas occupied a distant corner, in a reclining 
attitude, being rigidly bound, both hands and feet, 
by strong and painful withes. When the frightful 
object first presented itself to the young Mohican, 
he did not deign to bestow a single glance on the 
animal. The scout who had left David at the door, 
to ascertain they were not observed, thought it pru¬ 
dent to preserve his disguise until assured of iheir 
privacy. Instead of speaking, therefore, he exerted 
himself to enact one of the antics of the animal he 
represented. The young Mohican, who, at first, be¬ 
lieved his enemies had sent in a real beast to tor¬ 
ment him, and try his nerves, detected, in those per¬ 
formances that to Heyward had appeared so accur¬ 
ate, certain blemishes that at once betrayed the 
counterfeit. Had Hawkeye been aware of the low 
estimation in which the more skilful Uncas held his 
representations, he would, probably, have prolonged 
the entertainment a little in pique. But the scornful 
expression of the young man’s eye admitted of so 
many constructions, that the worthy scout was 
spared the mortification of such discovery. As soon, 
therefore, as David gave the preconcerted signal, a 
low hissing sound was heard in the lodge, in place of 
the fierce growlings of the bear. 

Uncas had cast his body back against the wall of 
the hut, and closed his eyes, as if willing to exclude 
such contemptible and disagreeable objects from his 
sight. But the moment the noise of the serpent was 
heard, he arose, and cast his looks on each side of 
nim, bending his head low, and turning it inquiringly 
in every direction, until his keen eye rested on the 


The Last of the Mohicans 


399 


shaggy monster, where it remained riveted, as 
though fixed by the power of a charm. Again the 
same sounds were repeated, evidently proceeding 
from the mouth of the beast. Once more the eyes 
of the youth roamed over the interior of the lodge, 
and returning to their former resting-place, he ut¬ 
tered in a deep, suppressed voice, the usual exclama¬ 
tion— 

“Hugh!”' 

“Cut his bands,” said Hawkeye to David, who just 
then approached them. 

The singer did as he was ordered, and Uncas 
found his limbs released. At the same moment, the 
dried skin of the animal rattled hurriedly, and pres¬ 
ently the scout arose to his feet in his proper per¬ 
son. The Mohican appeared to comprehend the na¬ 
ture of the attempt his friend had made, intuitively; 
neither tongue nor feature betraying another symp¬ 
tom .of surprise. When Hawkeye had cast his shaggy 
vestment, which was done by simply loosing certain 
thongs of skin, he drew a long glittering knife, and 
put it in the hands of Uncas. 

“The red Hurons are without,” he said. “Let us be 
ready.” 

At the same time he laid his finger significantly 
on another similar weapon, both being the fruits 
of his prowess among their enemies during the 
evening. 

“We will go,” said Uncas. 

“Whither?” 

“To the Tortoises; they are children of my grand¬ 
fathers.” 

“Aye, lad,” said the scout in English—a language 
he was apt to use when a little abstracted in mind. 
“The same blood runs in your veins, I believe; but 
time and distance have a little changed its color. 


400 


The Last of the Mohicans 


What shall we do with the Mingoes at the door? 
They count six, and this singer is as good as 
nothing.” 

“The Hurons are boasters,” said Uncas scorn¬ 
fully. “Their ‘totem’ is a moose, and they run like 
snails. The Delawares are children of the tortoise, 
and they outstrip the deer.” 

“Aye, lad, there is truth in what you say; and 1 
doubt not, on a rush, you would pass the whole 
nation; and, in a straight race of two miles, would 
be in, and get your breath again, afore a knave of 
them all was within hearing of the other village. 
But the gift of a w,hite man lies more in his arms 
than in his legs. As for myself, I can brain a Hu¬ 
ron as well as a better man; but when it comes to 
a race, the knaves would prove too much for me.” 

Uncas. who had already approached the door, in 
readiness^ to lead the way. now recoiled, and placed 
himself once more in the bottom of the lodge. . But 
Hawkeye, who was too much occupied with his own 
thoughts to note the movement, continued speaking 
more to himself than to his companion. “After all,” 
he said, “it is unreasonable to keep one man in 
bondage to the gifts of another. So, Uncas, you had 
better take the leap, while I will put on the skin 
again, and trust to cunning for want of speed.” 

The young Mohican made no reply, but quietly 
folded his arms, and leaned his body against one of 
the upright posts that supported the wall of the hut. 

“Well,” said the scout, looking up at him in some 
surprise, “why do you tarry? There will be time 
enough for me, as the knaves will give chase to you 
at first.” 

“Uncas will stay,” was the calm reply. 

“For what?” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


401 


“To fight with his father’s brother, and die with 
the friend of the Delawares.” 

“Aye, lad,” returned Hawkeye, squeezing the hand 
of Uncas between his own iron fingers, “’twould 
have been more like a Mingo than a Mohican, had 
you left me. But I thought I would make the offer, 
seeing that youth commonly loves life. Well, what 
can’t be done by main courage, in war, must be done 
by circumvention. Put on the skin—I doubt not you 
can play the bear nearly as well as myself.” 

Whatever might have been the private opinion of 
Uncas of their respective abilities, in this particular, 
his grave countenance manifested no opinion of his 
own superiority. He silently and expeditiously en¬ 
cased himself in the covering of the beast, and then 
awaited such other movements as his more aged 
companion saw fit to dictate. 

“Now, friend,” said Hawkeye, addressing David, 
“an exchange of garments will be a great conven¬ 
ience to you, inasmuch as you are but little accus¬ 
tomed to the make-shifts of the wilderness. Here, 
take my hunting-shirt and cap, and give me your 
blanket and hat. You must trust me with the book 
and spectacles as well as the tooter. If we ever 
meet again, in better times, you shall have all back 
again, with many thanks into the bargain.” 

David parted with the several articles named with 
a readiness that would have done great credit to his 
liberality, had he not certainly profited, in many 
particulars, by the exchange. Hawkeye was not long 
in assuming his borrowed garments; and when his 
restless eyes were hid behind the glasses, and his 
head was surmounted by the triangular beaver, as 
their statures were not dissimilar, he might readily 
have passed for the singer by starlight. As soon as 


402 


The Last of the Mohicans 


these dispositions were made, the scout turned to 
David, and gave him his parting instructions. 

“Are you much given to cowardice?” he bluntly 
asked, by way of obtaining a suitable understanding 
of the’ whole case before he ventured a prescription. 

“My pursuits are peaceful, and my temper, I 
humbly trust, is greatly given to mercy and love,” 
returned David, a little nettled at so direct an at¬ 
tack on his manhood. “But there are none who can 
say that I have ever forgotten my faith in the Lord, 
even in the greatest straits.” 

“Your chiefest danger will be at the moment 
when the savages find out that they have been de¬ 
ceived. If you are not then knocked in the head, 
your being a non-composser" will protect you; and 
you’ll then have good reason to expect to die in your 
bed. If you stay, it must be to sit down here in the 
shadow, and take the part of Uncas, until such times 
as the cunning of the Indians discover the cheat, 
when, as I have already said, your time of trial will 
come. So choose for yourself,—to make a rush or 
tarry here.” 

“Even so,” said David, firmly. “I will abide in the 
place of the Delaware. Bravely and generously has 
he battled in my behalf; and this, and more, will I 
dare in his service.” 

“You have spoken as a man, and like one who, 
under wiser schooling, would have been brought to 
better things. Hold your head down, and draw in 
your legs; their formation might tell the truth too 
early. Keep silent as long as may be; and it would 
be wise, when you do speak, to break out suddenly 
in one of your shoutings, which will serve to re¬ 
mind the Indians that you are not altogether as 
responsible as men should be. If, however, they take 

*In the first edition “compossur.” See NXII, Note X, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


403 


your scalp, as I trust and believe they will not, de¬ 
pend on it, Uncas and I will not forget the deed, 
but revenge it as becomes true warriors and trusty 
friends.” 

“Hold!” said David, perceiving that with this 
assurance they were about to leave him. “I am an 
unworthy and humble follower of One who taugnt 
not the damnable principle of revenge. Should I 
fall, therefore, seek no victims to my manes, but 
rather forgive my destroyers; and if you remember 
them at all, let it be in prayers for the enlightening 
of their minds, and for their eternal welfare.” 

The scout hesitated, and appeared to muse. 

“There is a principle in that,” he said, “different 
from the law of the woods; and yet it is fair and 
noble to reflect upon.” Then, heaving a heavy sigh, 
probably among t^he last he ever drew in pining for 
the condition he had so long abandoned, he added, 
“It ig what I would wish to practyse myself, as one 
without a cross of blood, though it is not always 
easy to deal with an Indian, as you would with a 
fellow Christian. God bless you, friend; I do be¬ 
lieve your scent is not greatly wrong, when the mat¬ 
ter is duly considered, and keeping eternity before 
the eyes, though much depends on the natural gifts 
and the force of temptation.” 

So saying, the scout returned, and shook David 
cordially by the hand; after which act of friendship 
he immediately left the lodge, attended by the new 
representative of the beast. 

The instant Hawkeye found himself under the ob¬ 
servation of the Hurons, he drew up his tall form 
in the rigid manner of David, threw out his arm in 
the act of keeping time, and commenced what he 
intended for an imitation of his psalmody. Happily 


Spirits. Not italicized in the first- edition. 



404 


The Last of the Mohicans 


for the success of this delicate adventure, he had 
to deal with ears but little practised in the concord 
of sweet sounds, or the miserable effort would in¬ 
fallibly have been detected. It was necessary to 
pass within a dangerous proximity of the dark group 
of savages, and the voice of the scout grew louder 
as they drew nigher. When at the nearest point, 
the Huron, who spoke the English, thrust out an 
arm, and stopped the supposed singing-master. 

“The Delaware dog!’’ he said, leaning forward, 
and peering through the dim light to catch the ex¬ 
pression of the other’s features, “is he afraid? 
Will the Hurons hear his groans?” 

A growl, so exceedingly fierce and natural, pro¬ 
ceeded from the beast, that the young Indian re¬ 
leased his hold, and started aside, as if to assure 
himself that it was not a veritable bear, and no 
counterfeit, that was rolling before him. Hawkeye, 
who feared his voice would betray him to his subtle 
enemies, gladly profited by the interruption to break 
out anew, in such a burst of musical expression, as 
would, probably, in a more refined state of society, 
have been termed a “grand crash.’’ Among his 
actual auditors, however, it merely gave him an ad¬ 
ditional claim to that respect which they never with¬ 
hold from such as are believed to be the subjects 
of mental alienation. The little knot of Indians 
drew back in a body, and suffered, as they thought, 
the conjurer and his inspired assistant to proceed. 

It required no common exercise of fortitude in 
Uncas and the scout to continue the dignified and 
deliberate pace they had assumed in passing the 
lodges; especially as they immediately perceived 
that curiosity had so far mastered fear, as to in¬ 
duce the watchers to approach the hut, in order to 
witness the effect of the incantations. The least 


The Last of the Mohicans 


405 


injudicious or impotent movement on the part of 
David might betray them, and time was absolutely 
necessary to insure the safety of the scout. The 
loud noise the latter conceived it politic to continue 
drew many curious gazers to the doors of the dif¬ 
ferent huts as they passed; and once or twice a 
dark-looking warrior stepped across their path, led 
to the act by superstition or watchfulness. They 
were not, however, interrupted; the darkness of the 
hour, and the boldness of the attempt, proving their 
principal friends. 

The adventurers had got clear of the village and 
were now swiftly approaching the shelter of the 
woods, when a loud and long cry arose from the 
lodge where Uncas had been confined. The Mohican 
started on his feet, and shook his shaggy covering, 
as though the animal he counterfeited was about to 
make some desperate effort. 

“Hold!” said the scout, grasping his friend by the 
shoulder, “let them yell again! ’Twas nothing but 
wonderment.” 

He had no occasion to delay, for at the next in¬ 
stant a burst of cries filled the outer air, and ran 
along the whole extent of the village. Uncas cast 
his skin, and stepped forth in his own beautiful 
proportions. Hawkeye tapped him lightly on the 
shoulder, and glided ahead. 

“Now let the devils strike our scent!” said the 
scout, tearing two rifles, with all their attendant 
accouterments, from beneath a bush, and flourish¬ 
ing “Killdeer” as he handed Uncas his weapon. 
“Two, at least, will find it to their deaths.” 

Then throwing their pieces to a low trail, like 
sportsmen in readiness for their game, they dashed 
forward, and were soon buried in the somber dark¬ 
ness of the forest. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

Ant .—“I shall remember: When Caesar says Do this, it 
is performed.” 

—Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, I, ii. 

The impatience of the savages who lingered about 
the prison of Uncas, as has been seen, had over¬ 
come their dread of the conjurer's breath. They 
stole cautiously, and with beating hearts, to a crev¬ 
ice, through which the faint light of the fire was 
glimmering. For several minutes they mistook the 
form of David for that of their prisoner; but the 
very accident which Hawkeye had foreseen occurred. 
Tired of keeping the extremities of his long person 
so near together, the singer gradually suffered the 
lower limbs to extend themselves, until one of his 
misshapen feet actually came in contact with and 
shoved aside the embers of the fire. At first the 
Hurons believed the Delaware had been thus de¬ 
formed by witchcraft. But when David, unconscious 
of being observed, turned his head, and exposed his 
simple, mild countenance, in place of the haughty 
lineaments of their prisoner, it would have exceeded 
the credulity of even a native to have doubted any 
longer. They rushed together into the lodge, and 
laying their hands, with but little ceremony, on their 
captive, immediately detected the imposition. Then 
arose the cry first heard by the fugitives. It was 
succeeded by the most frantic and angry demonstra¬ 
tion of vengeance. David, however firm in his de¬ 
termination to cover the retreat of his friends, was 
now compelled to believe that his own final hour 
had come. Deprived of his book and his pipe, he 
was fain to trust to a memory that rarely failed him 
on such subjects, and, breaking forth in a loud and 
impassioned strain, he endeavored to smooth his 
[ 406 ] 


The Last of the Mohicans 


407 


passage into the other world by singing the opening 
verse of a funeral anthem. The Indians were sea¬ 
sonably reminded of his infirmity, and, rushing into 
the open air, they aroused the village in the manner 
described. 

A native warrior fights as he sleeps, without the 
protection of anything defensive. The sounds of 
the alarm were, therefore, hardly uttered, before 
two hundred men were afoot, and ready for the bat¬ 
tle or the chase, as either might be required. The 
escape was soon known, and the whole tribe crowd¬ 
ed in a body around the council lodge, impatiently 
awaiting the instruction of their chiefs. In such a 
sudden demand on their wisdom, the presence of the 
cunning Magua could scarcely fail of being needed. 
His name was mentioned, and all looked round in 
wonder that he did not appear. Messengers were 
then dispatched to his lodge requiring his presence. 

In the meantime, some of the swiftest and most 
discreet of the young men were ordered to make the 
circuit of the clearing, under cover of the woods, 
in order to ascertain that their suspected neighbors, 
the Delawares, designed no mischief. Women and 
children ran to and fro; and, in short, the whole en¬ 
campment exhibited another scene of wild and sav¬ 
age confusion. Gradually, however, these symptoms 
of disorder diminished, and in a few minutes the 
oldest and most distinguished chiefs were assembled 
in the lodge, in grave consultation. 

The clamor of many voices soon announced that a 
party approached, who might be expected to com¬ 
municate some intelligence that would explain the 
mystery of the novel surprise. The crowd without 
gave way, and several warriors entered the place, 


408 


The Last of the Mohicans 


bringing with them the hapless conjurer, who had 
been left so long by the scout in duress . 1 

Notwithstanding this man was held in very un¬ 
equal estimation among the Hurons, some believing 
implicitly in his power, and others deeming him an 
impostor, he was now listened to by all with the 
deepest attention. When his brief story was ended, 
the father of the sick woman stepped forth, and, in 
a few pithy expressions, related, in his turn, what 
he knew. These two narratives gave a proper di¬ 
rection to the subsequent inquiries, which were now 
made with the characteristic cunning of savages. 

Instead of rushing in a confused and disorderly 
throng to the cavern, ten of the wisest and firmest 
among the chiefs were selected to prosecute the in¬ 
vestigation. As no time was to be lost, the instant 
the choice was made the individuals appointed rose 
in a body, and left the place without speaking. On 
reaching the entrance, the younger men in advance 
made way for their seniors; and the whole proceeded 
along the low dark gallery, with the firmness of 
warriors ready to devote themselves to the public 
good, though, at the same time, secretly doubting 
the nature of the power with which they were about 
to contend. 

The outer apartment of the cavern was silent and 
gloomy. The woman lay in her usual place and 
posture, though there were those present who had 
just affirmed they had seen her borne to the woods, 
by the supposed “medicine of the white men .” 2 Such 
a direct and palpable contradiction of the tale re¬ 
lated by the father, caused all eyes to be turned up¬ 
on him. Chafed by the silent imputation, and in¬ 
wardly troubled by so unaccountable a circumstance, 

‘In the first edition “in such a painful duress.” 

s White medicine man. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


409 


the chief advanced to the side of the bed, and stoop¬ 
ing, cast an incredulous look at the features as if 
still distrusting their reality. His daughter was 
dead. 

The unerring feeling of nature for a moment pre¬ 
vailed, and the old warrior hid his eyes in sorrow . 3 
Then recovering his self-possession, he faced his 
companions, and pointing towards the corpse, he 
said, in the language of his people— 

“The wife of my young man has left us! The 
Great Spirit is angry with his children.” 

The mournful intelligence was received in solemn 
silence. After a short pause, one of the elder In¬ 
dians was about to speak, when a dark-looking ob¬ 
ject was seen rolling out of an adjoining apart¬ 
ment into the very center of the room where they 
stood. Ignorant of the nature of the beings they 
had to deal with, the whole party drew back a little, 
and gazed in admiration, until the object fronted 
the light, and rising frightfully on end, exhibited 
the distorted, but still fierce and sullen, features 
of Magua. The discovery was succeeded 1 by a loud 
and general exclamation of amazement. 

As soon, however, as the true situation of the chief 
was understood, several ready knives appeared, and 
his limbs and tongue were quickly released. The 
Huron arose, and shook himself like a lion quitting 
his lair. Not a word escaped him, though his hand 
played convulsively with the handle of his knife, 
while his lowering eyes scanned the whole party as 
if they sought an object suited to the first burst of 
his vengeance. 

It was happy for Uncas and the scout, and even 
David, that they were all beyond the reach of his 
arm at such a moment; for, assuredly, no refine- 

3 In the first edition “in sorrow and disappointment.” 


/ 



410 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ment in cruelty would then have deferred their 
deaths, in opposition to the promptings of the fierce 
temper that nearly choked him. Meeting everywhere 
faces that he knew as friends, the savage grated his 
teeth together like rasps of iron, and swallowed his 
passion for want of a victim on whom to vent it. 
This exhibition of anger was noted by all present; 
and, from an apprehension of exasperating a temper 
that was already chafed nearly to madness, several 
minutes were suffered to pass before another word 
was uttered. When, however, suitable time had 
elapsed, the oldest of the party spoke. 

“My friend has found an enemy,” he said. “Is 
he nigh, that the Hurons may take revenge?” 

“Let the Delaware die!” exclaimed Magua, in a 
voice of thunder. 

Another long and expressive silence was observed, 
and was broken, as before, with due precaution, by 
the same individual. 

“The Mohican is swift of foot, and leaps far,” he 
said, “but my young men are on his trail.” 

“Is he gone?” demanded Magua, in tones so deep 
and guttural, that they seemed to proceed from his 
inmost chest. 

“An evil spirit has been among us, and the Del¬ 
aware has blinded our eyes.” 

“An evil spirit!” repeated the other, mockingly, 
“’tis the spirit that has taken the lives of so many 
Hurons. The spirit that slew my young men at the 
‘tumbling river’; that took their scalps at the ‘heal¬ 
ing spring’; and who has, now, bound the arms of 
Le Renard Subtil!” 

“Of whom does my friend speak?” 

“Of the dog who carries the heart and cunning of 
a Huron under a pale skin—La Longue Carabine.” 

The pronunciation of so terrible a name produced 


The Last of the Mohicans 


411 


the usual effect among his auditors. But when time 
was given for reflection and the warriors remem¬ 
bered that their formidable and daring enemy had 
even been in the bosom of their encampment, work¬ 
ing injury, fearful rage took the place of wonder, 
and all those fierce passions with which the bosom 
of Magua had just been struggling, were suddenly 
transferred to his companions. Some among them 
gnashed their teeth in anger, others vented their 
feelings in yells, and some, again, beat the air as 
frantically as if the object of their resentment was 
suffering under their blows. But this sudden out¬ 
breaking of temper as quickly subsided in the still 
and sullen restraint they most affected in their mo¬ 
ments of inaction. 

Magua, who had, in his turn, found leisure for a 
little reflection, now changed his manner, and as¬ 
sumed the air of one who knew how to think and act 
with a dignity worthy of so grave a subject. 

“Let us go to my people,” he said. “They wait 
for us.” 

His companions consented, in silence, and the 
whole of the savage party left the cavern, and re¬ 
turned to the council lodge. When they were seated, 
all their eyes turned to Magua, who understood, from 
such an indication, that, by common consent, they 
had devolved the duty 1 of relating what had passed 
on him. He arose, and told his tale without duplic¬ 
ity or reservation. The whole deception practised 
by both Duncan and Hawkeye was, of course, laid 
naked: and no room was found, even for the most 
superstitious of the tribe, any longer to affix a doubt 
on the character of the occurrences. It was but 
too apparent, that they had been insultingly, shame¬ 
fully, disgracefully deceived. When he had ended, 
and resumed his seat, the collected tribe—for his 


412 


The Last of the Mohicans 


auditors, in substance, included all the fighting men 
of the party—sat regarding each other like men as¬ 
tonished equally at the audacity and the success of 
their enemies. The next consideration, however, was 
the means and opportunities for revenge. 

Additional pursuers were sent on the trail of the 
fugitives; and then the chiefs applied themselves, 
in earnest, to the business of consultation. Many 
different expedients were proposed by the elder war¬ 
riors, in succession, to all of which Magua was a 
silent and respectful listener. That subtle savage 
had recovered his artifice and self-command, and now 
proceeded towards his object with his customary 
caution and skill. It was only when each one dis¬ 
posed to speak had uttered his sentiments, that he 
prepared to advance his own opinions. They were 
given with additional weight from the circumstance 
that some of the runners had already returned, and 
reported that their enemies had been traced so far 
as to leave no doubt of their having sought safety 
in the neighboring camp of their suspected allies, 
the Delawares. With the advantage of possessing 
this important intelligence, the chief warily laid his 
plans before his fellows, and, as might have been 
anticipated from his eloquence and cunning, they 
were adopted without a dissenting voice. They were, 
briefly, as follows, both in opinions and in motives. 

It has been already stated, that, in obedience to a 
policy rarely departed from, the sisters were sep¬ 
arated as soon as they reached the Huron village. 
Magua had early discovered that in retaining the 
person of Alice, he possessed the most effectual 
check on Cora. When they parted, therefore, he 
kept the former within reach of his hand, consign¬ 
ing the one he most valued to the keeping of their 
allies. The arrangement was understood to be 


The Last of tiie Mohicans 


413 


merely temporary, and was made as much with a 
view to flatter his neighbors as in obedience to the 
invariable rule of Indian policy. 

While goaded incessantly by these revengeful im¬ 
pulses that in a savage seldom slumber, the chief 
was still attentive to his more permanent personal 
interests. The follies and disloyalty committed in 
his youth were to be expiated by a long and painful 
penance, ere he could be restored to the full enjoy¬ 
ment of the confidence of his ancient people; and 
without confidence there could be no authority in 
an Indian tribe. In this delicate and arduous situa¬ 
tion, the crafty native had neglected no means of 
increasing his influence ; and *one of the happiest of 
his expedients had been the success with which he 
had cultivated the favor of their powerful and 
dangerous neighbors. The result of his experiment 
had answered all the expectations of his policy; for 
the Hurons were in no degree exempt from that 
governing principle of nature, which induces man 
to value his gifts precisely in the degree that they 
are appreciated by others. 

But while he was making this ostensible sacrifice 
to general considerations, Magua never lost sight 
of his individual motives. The latter had been 
frustrated by the unlooked-for events which had 
placed all his prisoners beyond his control; and he 
now found himself reduced to the necessity of suing 
for favors to those whom it had so lately been his 
policy to oblige. 

Several of the chiefs had proposed deep and 
treacherous schemes to surprise the Delawares, and, 
by gaining possession of their camp, to recover their 
prisoners by the same blow; for all agreed that their 
honor, their interests, and the peace and happiness 
of their dead countrymen, imperiously required 


414 


The Last of the Mohicans 


them speedily to immolate some victims to their re¬ 
venge. But plans so dangerous to attempt, and of 
such doubtful issue, Magua found little difficulty in 
defeating. He exposed their risk and fallacy with 
his usual skill; and it was only after he had removed 
every impediment, in the shape of opposing advice, 
that he ventured to propose his own projects. 

He commenced by flattering the self-love of his 
auditors, a never-failing method of commanding at¬ 
tention. When he had enumerated the many differ¬ 
ent occasions on which the Hurons had exhibited 
their courage and prowess in the punishment of in¬ 
sults, he digressed in a high encomium on the vir¬ 
tue of wisdom. He painted the quality, as forming 
the great point of difference between the beaver and 
other brutes; between the brutes and men; and, 
finally, between the Hurons, in particular, and the 
rest of the human race. After he had sufficiently 
extolled the property of discretion, he undertook to 
exhibit in what manner its use was applicable to 
the present situation of their tribe. On the one 
hand, he said, was their great pale father, the gov¬ 
ernor of the Canadas, who had looked upon his chil¬ 
dren with a hard eye, since their tomahawks had 
been so red; on the other, a people as numerous as 
themselves, who spoke a different language, possessed 
different interests, and loved them not, and who 
would be glad of any pretense to bring them in dis¬ 
grace with the great white chief. Then he spoke of 
their necessities; of the gifts they had a right to 
expect for their past service; of their distance from 
their proper hunting-grounds and native villages; 
and of the necessity of consulting prudence more, 
and inclination less, in such critical circumstances. 
When he perceived, that, while the old men applaud¬ 
ed his moderation, many of the fiercest and most 


The Last of the Mohicans 


415 


distinguished of the warriors listened to these pol¬ 
itic plans with lowering looks, he cunningly led 
them back to the subject which they most loved. 
He spoke openly of the fruits of their wisdom, which 
he boldly pronounced would be a complete and final 
triumph over their enemies. He even darkly hinted 
that their success might be extended, with proper 
caution, in such a manner as to include the destruc¬ 
tion of all whom they had reason to hate. In short, 
he so blended the warlike with the artful, as to flat¬ 
ter the propensities of both parties, and to leave to 
each a subject for hope, while neither could say it 
clearly comprehended his intentions. 

The orator, or the politician, who can produce such 
a state -of things, is commonly popular with his con¬ 
temporaries. however he may be treated by poster¬ 
ity. All perceived that more was meant than was 
uttered, and each one believed that the hidden mean¬ 
ing was precisely such as his own faculties enabled 
him to anticipate. 

In this happy state of things, it is not surprising 
that the management of Magua prevailed. The tribe 
consented to act with deliberation, and with one 
voice they committed the direction of the whole af¬ 
fair to the government of the chief who had sug¬ 
gested such wise and intelligible expedients. 

Magua had now obtained one great object of all 
his cunning and enterprise. The ground he had lost 
in the favor of his people was completely regained, 
and he found himself even placed at the head of 
affairs. He was, in truth, their ruler; and so long 
as he could maintain his popularity no monarch 
could be more despotic, especially while the tribe 
continued in a hostile country. Throwing off, there¬ 
fore, the appearance of consultation, he assumed 


416 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the grave air of authority, necessary to support the 
dignity of his office. 

Runners were dispatched for intelligence in differ¬ 
ent directions; spies were ordered to approach and 
feel the encampment of the Delawares; the warriors 
were dismissed to their lodges, with an intimation 
that their services would soon be needed; and the 
women and children were ordered to retire, with a 
warning that it was their province to be silent. 
When these several arrangements were made, 
Magua passed through the village, stopping here and 
there to pay a visit where he thought his presence 
might be flattering to the individual. He confirmed 
his friends in their confidence; fixed the wavering; 
and gratified all. Then he sought his own lodge. 
The wife the Huron chief had abandoned, when he 
was chased from among his people, was dead. Chil¬ 
dren he had none; and he now occupied a hut, with¬ 
out companion of any sort. It was, in fact, the dilap¬ 
idated and solitary structure in which David had 
been discovered, and whom he had tolerated in his 
presence, on those few occasions when they met, 
with the contemptuous indifference of a haughty su¬ 
periority. 

Hither, then, Magua retired, when his labors of 
policy were ended. While others slept, however, he 
neither knew nor sought any repose. Had there been 
one sufficiently curious to have watched the move¬ 
ments of the newly elected chief, he would have 
seen him seated in a corner of his lodge, musing on 
the subject of his future plans, from the hour of his 
retirement to the time he had appointed for the war¬ 
riors to assemble again. Occasionally the air 
breathed through the crevices of the hut, and the 
low flames that fluttered about the embers of the 
fire threw their wavering light on the person of the 


The Last op the Mohicans 


417 


sullen recluse. At such moments it would not have 
been difficult to have fancied the dusky savage the 
Prince of Darkness, brooding on his own fancied 
wrongs, and plotting evil. 

Long before the day dawned, however, warrior 
after warrior entered the solitary hut of Magua, 
until they had collected to the number of twenty. 
Each bore his rifle, and all the other accouterments 
of war, though the paint was uniformly peaceful. 
The entrance of these fierce-looking beings was un¬ 
noticed ; some seating themselves in the shadows of 
the place, and others standing like motionless stat¬ 
ues, until the whole of the designated band was col¬ 
lected. 

Then Magua arose and gave the signal to proceed, 
marching himself in advance. They followed their 
leader singly, and in that well-known order which 
has obtained the distinguishing appellation of “In¬ 
dian file.” Unlike other men engaged in the spirit- 
stirring business of war, they stole from their camp 
unostentatiously and unobserved, resembling a band 
of gliding specters, more than warriors seeking the 
bubble reputation 4 by deeds of desperate daring. 

Instead of taking the path which led directly to¬ 
wards the camp of the Delawares, Magua led his 
party for some distance down the windings of the 
stream, and along the little artificial lake of the 
beavers. The day began to dawn as they entered 
the clearing which had been formed by those sa¬ 
gacious and industrious animals. Though Magua, 
who had resumed his ancient garb, bore the outline 
of a fox on the dressed skin which formed his robe, 
there was one chief of his party who carried the 
beaver as his peculiar symbol, or “totem.” There 
would have been a species of profanity in the omis- 


4 From Shakespeare’s As You Like It, II, vii, 152 



418 


The Last of the Mohicans 


sion, had this man passed so powerful a community 
of his fancied kindred, without bestowing some evi¬ 
dence of his regard. Accordingly, he paused, and 
spoke in words as kind and friendly as if he were 
addressing more intelligent beings. He called the 
animals his cousins, and reminded them that his 
protecting influence was the reason they remained 
unharmed, while s*o many avaricious traders were 
prompting the Indians to take their lives. He prom¬ 
ised a continuance of his favors, and admonished 
them to be grateful. After which, he spoke of the 
expedition in which he was himself engaged, and 
intimated, though with sufficient delicacy and cir¬ 
cumlocution, the expediency of bestowing on their 
relative a portion of that wisdom for which they 
were so renowned . 0 

During the utterance of this extraordinary ad¬ 
dress, the companions of the speaker were as grave 
and as attentive t-o his language as though they 
were all equally impressed with its propriety. Once 
or twice black objects were seen rising to the sur¬ 
face of the water, and the Huron expressed pleas¬ 
ure, conceiving that his words were not bestowed in 
vain. Just as he ended his address, the head of a 
large beaver was thrust from the door of a lodge, 
whose earthen walls had been much injured, and 
which the party had believed, from its situation, to 
be uninhabited. Such an extraordinary sign of 
confidence was received by the orator as a highly 
favorable omen; and though the animal retreated a 
little precipitately, he was lavish of his thanks and 
commendations. 

-These harangues of the beasts are frequent among the 
Indians. They often address their victims in this way, 
reproaching them for cowardice, or commending their 
resolution, as they may happen ho exhibit fortitude or 
the reverse in suffering. [Cooper’s Note.] 



The Last of the Mohicans 


419 


When Magua thought sufficient time had been lost 
in gratifying the family affection of the warrior, 
he again made the signal to proceed. As the In¬ 
dians moved away in a body, and with a step that 
would have been inaudible to the ears of any com¬ 
mon man, the same venerable-looking beaver once 
more ventured his head from its cover. Had any 
of the Hurons turned to look behind them, they 
would have seen the animal watching their move¬ 
ments with an interest and sagacity that might 
easily have been mistaken for reason. Indeed, so 
very distinct and intelligible were the devices of 
the quadruped, that even the most experienced ob¬ 
server would have been at a loss to account for its 
actions, until the moment when the party entered 
the forest, when the whole would have been ex¬ 
plained, by seeing the entire animal issue from the 
lodge, uncasing, by the act, the grave features of 
Chingachgook from his mask of fur. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


“Brief, I pray you; for you see ’tis busy time with me/' 
—Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, III, v. 

The tribe, or rather half-tribe, of Delawares, 
which has been so often mentioned, and whose pres¬ 
ent place of encampment was so nigh the temporary 
village of the Hurons, could assemble about an equal 
number of warriors with the latter people. Like 
their neighbors, they had followed Montcalm into 
the territories of the English crown, and were mak¬ 
ing heavy and serious inroads on the hunting- 
grounds of the Mohawks, though they had seen fit, 
with the mysterious reserve so common among the 
natives, to withhold their assistance at the moment 
when it was most required. The French had account¬ 
ed for this unexpected defection on the part of their 
ally in various ways. It was the prevalent opinion, 
however, that they had been influenced by venera¬ 
tion for the ancient treaty that had once made them 
dependent on the Iroquois for military protection, 
and now rendered them reluctant to encounter their 
former masters. As for the tribe itself, it had been 
content to announce to Montcalm, through his emis¬ 
saries, with Indian brevity, that their hatchets were 
dull, and time was necessary to sharpen them. The 
politic captain of the Canadas had deemed it wiser 
to submit to entertain a passive friend, than, by 
any acts of ill-judged severity, to convert him into 
an open enemy. 

On that morning when Magua led his silent party 
from the settlement of the beavers into the forest 
in the manner described, the sun arose upon the 
Delaware encampment, as though it had suddenly 
burst upon a busy people actively employed in all 
the customary avocations of high noon. The wom- 
[ 420 ] 


The Last of the Mohicans 


421 


en ran from lodge to lodge, some engaged in pre¬ 
paring their morning’s meal, a few earnestly bent on 
seeking the comforts necessary to their habits, but 
more pausing to exchange hasty and whispered sen¬ 
tences with their friends. The warriors were loung¬ 
ing in groups, musing more than they conversed; 
and when a few words were uttered speaking like 
men who deeply weighed their opinions. The in¬ 
struments of the chase were to be seen in abun¬ 
dance among the lodges; but none departed. Here 
and there a warrior might be seen examining his 
arms, with an attention that is rarely bestowed on 
the implements, when no other enemy than the 
beasts of the forest is expected to be encountered. 
And, occasionally, the eyes of a whole group were 
turned simultaneously towards a large and silent 
lodge in the center of the village, as if it contained 
the subject of their common thoughts. 

During the existence of this scene, a man sud¬ 
denly appeared at the furthest extremity of that 
platform of rock which formed the level of the vil¬ 
lage. He was without arms, and his paint tended 
rather to soften than increase the natural sternness 
of his austere and marked countenance. When in 
full view of the Delawares he stopped, and made a 
gesture of amity,' by throwing his arm upwards to¬ 
wards heaven, and then letting it fall impressively 
on his breast. The inhabitants of the village an¬ 
swered his salute by a low murmur of welcome, and 
encouraged him to advance by similar indications of 
friendship. Fortified by these assurances the dark 
figure left the brow of the natural rocky terrace, 
where it had stood a moment drawn in a strong out- 

system of communication by signs exis'bed among In¬ 
dian tribes, not only among the Eastern tribes of colonial 
times but among western tribes. 



422 


The Last of the Mohicans 


line against the blushing morning sky, and moved, 
with dignity, into the very center of the huts. As 
he approached, nothing was audible but the rattling 
of the light silver ornaments that loaded his arm 
and neck, and the tinkling of the little bells that 
fringed his deer-skin moccasins. He made, as he 
advanced, many courteous signs of greeting to the 
men, neglecting to notice the women, however, as 
though he deemed their favor, in the present enter¬ 
prise, of no importance. When he had reached the 
group, in which it was evident, by the haughtiness 
of their common mien, that the principal chiefs were 
collected, the stranger paused, and then the Dela¬ 
wares saw that the active and erect form that stood 
before them was that of the well known Huron chief, 
Le Renard Subtil. 

His reception was grave, silent, and wary. The 
warriors in front stepped aside, opening the way to 
their most approved orator by the action; one who 
spoke all those languages that were cultivated among 
the northern aborigines. 

“The wise Huron is welcome,” said the Delaware, 
in the language of the Maquas. “He is come to eat 
his ‘succotash/ 2 with his brothers of the lakes.” 

“He is come,” repeated Magua, bending his head 
with the dignity of an Eastern prince. 

The chief extended his arm, and taking the other 
by the wrist, they once more exchanged friendly 
salutations. Then the Delaware invited his guest 
to enter his own lodge, and share his morning meal. 
The invitation was accepted; and the two warriors, 
attended by three or four of the old men, walked 

2 A d ; sh composed of cracked corn and beans. It is 
much used also by whites. By corn is meant maize. 
[Cooper’s Note.] 

In the first edition the spelling is “suc-ca-tush.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


423 


calmly away, leaving the rest of the tribe devoured 
by a desire to understand the reasons of so unusual 
a visit, and yet not betraying the least impatience 
by sign or word . 3 

During the short and frugal repast that followed, 
the conversation was extremely circumspect, and 
related entirely to the events of the hunt in which 
Magua had so lately been engaged. It would have 
been impossible for the most finished breeding to 
wear more of the appearance of considering the visit 
as a matter of course, than did his hosts, notwith¬ 
standing every individual present was perfectly 
aware that it must be connected with some secret 
object, and that probably of importance to them¬ 
selves. When the appetites of the whole were ap¬ 
peased, the squaws removed the trenchers and gourds, 
and the two parties began to prepare themselves for 
a subtle trial of their wits . 4 

“Is the face of my great Canada father turned 
again towards his Huron children?” demanded the 
orator of the Delawares. 

“When was it ever otherwise?” returned Magua. 
“He calls my people ‘most beloved.’ ” 

The Delaware gravely bowed his acquiescence to 
what he knew to be false, and continued— 

“The tomahawks of your young men have been 
very red.” 

“It is so; but they are now bright and dull; for 
the Yengeese are dead, and the Delawares are our 
neighbors.” 

The other acknowledged the pacific compliment by 
a gesture of the hand, and remained silent. Then 
3 In the -first edition “by sign or syllable.” 

4 The following dialogue well illustrates Indian sublety 
and adroitness as well as Indian proneness to metaphor¬ 
ical turns of language. Many early writers testify to 
these characteristics of the Indians. 



424 The Last of the Mohicans 

Magua, as if recalled to such a recollection, by the 
allusion to the massacre, demanded— 

“Does my prisoner give trouble to my brothers?” 

“She is welcome.” 

“The path between the Hurons and the Delawares 
is short, and it is open; let her be sent to my squaws, 
if she gives trouble to my brother.” 

“She is welcome,” returned the chief of the lat¬ 
ter nation, still more emphatically. 

The baffled Magua continued silent several min¬ 
utes, apparently indifferent, however, to the repulse 
he had received in this his open effort to gain 5 pos 
session of Cora. 

“Do my young men leave the Delawares room on 
the mountains for their hunts V he at length con¬ 
tinued. 

“The Lenape are rulers of their own hills,” re¬ 
turned the other, a little haughtily. 

“It is well. Justice is the master of a red-skin! 
Why should they brighten their tomahawks, and 
sharpen their knives against each other? Are not 
the pale-faces thicker than the swallows in the sea¬ 
son of flowers?” 

“'Good!” exclaimed two or three of his auditors 
at the same time. 

Magua waited a little, to permit his words to 
soften the feelings of the Delawares, before he ad¬ 
ded— 

“Have there not been strange moccasins in the 
woods? Have not my brothers scented the feet of 
white men?” 

“Let my Canada father come!” returned the other 
evasively. “His children are ready to see him.” 

“When the Great Chief comes, it is to smoke with 
the Indians, in the wigwams. The Hurons say too 

5 In the first edition “to regain possession.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


425 


he is welcome. But the Yengeese have long arms, 
and legs that never tire! My young men dreamed 
they had seen the trail of the Yengeese nigh the vil¬ 
lage of the Delawares?” 

“They will not find the Lenape asleep.” 

“It is well. The warrior whose eye is open can 
see his enemy,” said Magua, once more shifting his 
ground, when he found himself unable to penetrate 
the caution of his companion. “I have brought gifts 
to my brother. His nation would not go on the war¬ 
path because they did not think it well, but their 
friends have remembered where they lived.” 

When he had thus announced his liberal intention, 
the crafty chief arose, and gravely spread his pres¬ 
ents before the dazzled eyes of his hosts. They con¬ 
sisted principally of trinkets of little value, plun¬ 
dered from the slaughtered and captured females 
of William Henry. In the division of the baubles, 
the cunning Huron discovered no less art than in 
their selection. While he bestowed those of greater 
value on the two most distinguished warriors, one 
of whom was his host, he seasoned his offerings to 
their inferiors with such well-timed and apposite 
compliments, as left them no grounds of complaint. 
In short the whole ceremony contained such a happy 
blending of the profitable with the flattering that it 
was not difficult for the donor immediately to read 
the effect of a generosity so aptly mingled with 
praise, in the eyes of those he addressed. 

This well-judged and politic stroke on the part of 
Magua, was not without its instantaneous results. 
The Delawares lost their stern gravity, in a much 
more cordial expression of features; and the host, in 
particular, after contemplating his own liberal 
share of the spoil for some moments with peculiar 


426 


The Last of the Mohicans 


gratification, repeated, with strong emphasis, the 
words— 

“My brother is a wise chief. He is welcome!” 

“The Hurons love their friends the Delawares,” 
returned Magua. “Why should they not? They are 
colored by the same sun, and their just men will 
hunt in the same grounds after death. The red¬ 
skins should be friends, and look with open eyes on 
the white men. Has not my brother scented spies 
in the woods?” 

The Delaware whose name in English signified 
“Hard Heart,” an appellation that the French had 
translated into “Le Coeur-dur,” forgot that obdur¬ 
acy of purpose, which had probably obtained him 
so significant a title. His countenance grew very 
sensibly less stern, and he now deigned to anwer 
more directly. 

“There have been strange moccasins about my 
camp. They have been tracked into my lodges.” 

“Did my brother beat out the dogs?” asked Magua, 
without adverting in any manner to the former 
equivocation of the chief. 

“It would not do. The stranger is always wel¬ 
come to the children of the Lenape.” 

“The stranger, but not the spy.”’ 

“Would the Yengeese send their women as spies? 
Did not the Huron chief say he took women in the 
battle?” 

“‘He told no lie. The Yengeese have sent out their 
scouts. They have been in my wigwams, but they 
found no one to say welcome. Then they fled to the 
Delawares; for, say they, "the Delawares are our 
friends; their minds are turned from their Canada 
father!” 

This insinuation was a home thrust, and one that 
in a more advanced state of society, would have 


The Last of the Mohicans 


427 


entitled Magua to the reputation of a skilful di¬ 
plomatist. The great defection of the tribe had, as 
they well knew themselves, subjected the Delawares 
to much reproach among their French allies; and 
they were now made to feel that their future activ¬ 
ities were to be regarded with jealousy and distrust. 
There was no deep insight into causes and effects 
necessary to foresee that such a situation of things 
was likely to prove highly prejudicial to their future 
movements. Their distant villages, their hunting- 
grounds, and hundreds of their women and children, 
together with a material part of their physical force, 
were actually within the limits of the French terri¬ 
tory. Accordingly, this alarming annunciation was 
received, as Magua intended, with manifest disap- 
probation^ if not with alarm. 

“Let my father look in my face,” said Le Cceur- 
dur. “He will see no change. It is true, my young 
men did not go out on the war-path: they had dreams 
for not doing so . 6 But they love and venerate the 
great white chief.” 

“Will he think so when he hears that his greatest 
enemy is fed in the camp of his children? When 
he is told a bloody Yengee smokes at your fire? That 
the pale-face who has slain so many of his friends 
goes in and out among the Delawares? Go! My 
great Canada father is not a fool!” 

“Where is the Yengee that the Delawares fear?” 
returned the other. “Who has slain my young men? 
Who is the mortal enemy of my great Father?” 

“La Longue Carabine.” 

The Delaware warriors started at the well-known 
name, betraying, by their amazement;, they now 
learnt, for the first time, that one so famous among 

“Indian conduct is much governed by dreams, and 
Cooper is true to Indian character here. 



428 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the Indian allies of France, was within their power. 

“What does my brother mean?” demanded Le Coeur- 
dur, in a tone that, by its wonder, far exceeded the 
usual apathy of his race. 

“A Huron never lies,” returned Magua coldly, 
leaning his head against the side of the lodge, and 
drawing his slight robe across his tawny breast. 
“Let the Delawares count their prisoners. They 
will find one whose skin is neither red nor pale.” 

A long and musing pause succeeded. Then the 
chief consulted, apart, with his companions, and 
messengers were despatched to collect certain oth¬ 
ers of the most distinguished men of the tribe. 

As warrior after warrior dropped in, they were 
each made acquainted, in turn, with the important 
intelligence that Magua had just communicated. 
The air of surprise, and the usual low, deep, gut¬ 
tural exclamation, were common to them all. The 
news spread from mouth to mouth, until the whole 
encampment became powerfully agitated. The wom¬ 
en suspended their labors, to catch such syllables 
as unguardedly fell from the lips of the consulting 
warriors. The boys deserted their sports, and walking 
fearlessly among their fathers, looked up in curious 
admiration, as they heard the brief exclamations of 
wonder they so freely expressed, at the temerity of 
their hated foe. In short, every occupation was aban¬ 
doned, for the time; and all other pursuits seemed 
discarded, in order that the tribe might freely in¬ 
dulge, after their own peculiar manner, in an open 
expression of their feelings. 

When the excitement had a little abated, the 
old men disposed themselves seriously to a consider¬ 
ation of that which it became the honor and safety 
of their tribe to perform under circumstances of so 
much delicacy and embarrassment. During all these 


The Last of the Mohicans 


429 


movements, and in the midst of the general com¬ 
motion, Magua had not only maintained his seat, 
but the very attitude he had originally taken, against 
the side of the lodge, where he continued as immov¬ 
able, and, apparently, as unconcerned, as if he had 
no interest in the result. Not a single indication 
of the future intentions of his hosts, however, es¬ 
caped his vigilant eyes. With his consummate 
knowledge of the nature of the people with whom 
he had to deal, he anticipated every measure on 
which they decided; and it might almost be said, 
that, in many instances, he knew their intentions, 
even before they became known to themselves. 

The council of the Delawares was short. When it 
was ended, a general bustle announced that it was 
to be immediately succeeded by a solemn and formal 
assemblage 7 of the nation. As such meetings were 


7 Of interest in this connection is a passage from some 
‘"Remarks Concerning the Savages of North America” by 
Benjamin Franklin. 

“Savages we call them, because their manners differ 
from ours, which we think the perfection of civility; they 
think the same of theirs . . . Having frequent occasions 
to hold public councils, they have acquired great order 
and decency in conducting themselves . . . He that would 
speak rises. The rest observe a profound silence. When 
he has finished and sits down, they leave him five or 
six minutes to recollect, that, if he has omitted anything 
he intended to say, he may rise again and deliver it. To 
interrupt another, even in common conversation, is reck¬ 
oned Highly indecent. How different this from the con¬ 
duct of a polite British House of Commons, where scarce 
a day passes without some confusion, that makes the 
speaker hoarse in calling to order; and how different 
from the mode of conversation in many polite companies 
of Europe, where, if you do not deliver your sentence 
with great rapidity, you are cut off in the middle of it 



430 


The Last of the Mohicans 


rare, and only called on occasions of the last im¬ 
portance, the subtle Huron, who still sat apart, a 
wily and dark observer of the proceedings* now 
knew that all his projects must be brought to their 
final issue. He therefore left the lodge, and walked 
silently forth to the place in front of the encamp¬ 
ment whither the warriors were already beginning 
to collect. 

It might have been half an hour before each indi¬ 
vidual, including even the women and children, was 
m his place. The delay had been created by the grave 
preparations that were deemed necessary to so sol¬ 
emn and unusual a conference. But when the sun was 
seen climbing above the tops of that mountain 
against whose bosom the Delawares had constructed 
their encampment, most were seated; and as his 
bright rays darted from behind the outline of trees 
that fringed the eminence, they fell upon as grave, 
as attentive, and as deeply interested a multitude, 
as was probably ever before lighted by his morn¬ 
ing beams. Its number somewhat exceeded a thous¬ 
and souls. 

In a collection of such serious savages, there is 
never to be found any impatient aspirant after pre¬ 
mature distinction, standing ready to move his aud¬ 
itors to some hasty, and* perhaps, injudicious dis¬ 
cussion, in order that his own reputation may be the 
gainer. An act of so much precipitancy and pre¬ 
sumption would seal the downfall of precocious in¬ 
tellect forever. It rested solely with the oldest and 
most experienced of the men to lay the subject of the 
conference before the people. Until such a one chose 
to make some movement, no deeds in arms, no nat¬ 
ural gifts, nor any renown as an orator, would have 

by tbe impatient loquacity of those you converse with, 
and never suffered to finish it.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


431 


justified the slightest interruption. On the present 
occasion, the aged warrior whose privilege it was to 
speak, was silent, seemingly oppressed with the mag¬ 
nitude of his subject. The delay had already con¬ 
tinued long beyond the usual deliberative pause that 
always precedes a conference; but no sign of im¬ 
patience or surprise escaped even the youngest boy. 
Occasionally, an eye was raised from the earth, 
where the looks of most were riveted, and strayed 
towards a particular lodge, that was, however, in 
no manner distinguished from those around it, ex¬ 
cept in the peculiar care that had been taken to pro¬ 
tect it against the assaults of the weather. 

At length one of those low murmurs that are so 
apt to disturb a multitude, was heard, and the whole 
nation arose to their feet by a common impulse. 
At that instant the door of the lodge in question 
opened, and three men issuing from it, slowly ap¬ 
proached the place of consultation. They were all 
aged, even beyond that period to which the oldest 
present had reached: but one in the center, who 
leaned on his companions for support, had num¬ 
bered an amount of years to which the human race 
is seldom permitted to attain. His frame, which 
had once been tall and erect, like the cedar, was 
now bending under the pressure of more than a cen¬ 
tury. The elastic, light step of an Indian was gone, 
and in its place, he was compelled to toil his tardy 
way over the ground, inch by inch. His dark, 
wrinkled countenance was in singular and wild con¬ 
trast with his long white locks, which floated on his 
shoulders in such thickness as to announce that 
generations had probably passed away since they 
had last been shorn. 

The dress of this patriarch, for such, consider¬ 
ing his vast age, in conjunction with his affinity and 
influence with his people, he might very properly be 


432 


The Last of the Mohicans 


termed, was rich and imposing, though strictly after 
the simple fashions of the tribe. His robe was of 
the finest skins, which had been deprived of their 
fur, in order to admit of a hieroglyphical represen¬ 
tation of various deeds in arms, done in former ages. 
His bosom was loaded with medals, some in massive 
silver, and one or two even in gold, the gifts of var¬ 
ious Christian potentates during the long period of 
his life. He also wore armlets, and cinctures above 
the ankles, of the latter precious metal. His head, 
on the whole of which the hair had been permitted 
to grow, the pursuits of war having so long been 
abandoned, was encircled by a sort of silver diadem, 
which, in its turn, bore lesser and more glittering 
ornaments, that sparkled amid the glossy hues of 
three drooping ostrich feathers, dyed a deep black, 
in touching contrast to the color of his snow-white 
locks. His tomahawk was nearly hid in silver, and 
the handle of his knife shone like a horn of solid 
gold. 

So soon as the first hum of emotion and pleasure, 
which the sudden appearance of this venerated indi¬ 
vidual created, had a little subsided, the name of 
“Tamenund ” 8 was whispered from mouth to mouth. 
Magua had often heard the fame of this wise and 
just Delaware; a reputation that even proceeded so 
far as to bestow on him the rare gift of holding se¬ 
cret communion with the Great Spirit, and which 
has since transmitted his name, with some slight 
alteration, to the white usurpers of his ancient terri¬ 
tory, as the imaginary tutelar saint 9 of a vast em- 

Tleckewelder’s Indian Nations speaks in chapter XL of 
an Indian chief Tamenand, “an ancient Delaware chief 
who never had his equal.” His name was held in high 
veneration by the Indians, 

y Saint Tammany. [Cooper’s Note.] See Tammany in 
the Glossary of proper names. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


433 


pire. The Huron chief therefore stepped eagerly out 
a little from the throng, to a spot whence he might 
catch a glimpse of the features of the man whose 
decision was likely to produce so deep an influence 
on his own fortunes. 

The eyes of the old man were closed, as though 
the organs were wearied with having so long wit¬ 
nessed the selfish workings of human passions. The 
color of his skin differed from that of most around 
him, being richer and darker; the latter hue having 
been produced by certain delicate and mazy lines of 
complicated and yet beautiful figures, which had 
been traced over most of his person by the operation 
of tattooing. Notwithstanding the position of the 
Huron, he passed the observant and silent Magua 
without notice, and leaning on his two venerable 
supporters, proceeded to the high place of the mul¬ 
titude, where he seated himself in the center of his 
nation, with the dignity of a monarch, and the air 
of a father. 

Nothing could surpass the reverence and affection 
with which this unexpected visit from one who be¬ 
longed rather to another world than to this, was re¬ 
ceived by his people. After a suitable and decent 
pause, the principal chiefs arose, and, approaching 
the patriarch, they placed his hands reverently on 
their heads, seeming to entreat a blessing. The 
younger men were content with touching his robe, 
or even drawing nigh his person, in order to breathe 
in the atmosphere of one so aged, so just, ancf so 
valiant. None but the most distinguished among the 
youthful warriors even presumed so far as to per¬ 
form the latter ceremony; the great mass of the mul¬ 
titude deeming it a sufficient happiness to look upon 
a form so deeply venerated, and so well beloved. 
When these acts of affection and respect were per- 


434 


The Last of the Mohicans 


formed, the chiefs drew back again to their several 
places, and silence reigned in the whole encamp¬ 
ment. 

After a short delay, a few of the young men to 
whom instructions had been whispered by one of 
the aged attendants of Tamenund, arose, left the 
crowd, and entered the lodge which has already been 
noted as the object of so much attention throughout 
that morning. In a few minutes they reappeared, 
escorting the individuals who had caused all these 
solemn preparations towards the seat of judgment. 
The crowd opened in a lane; and when the party had 
re-entered, it closed in again, forming a large and 
dense belt of human bodies, arranged in an open 
circle. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


“Ttf assembly seated, rising o’er the rest, 

Achilles thus the king of men addressed.” 

—Pope’s Iliad, I, 77. 

Cora stood foremost among the prisoners, entwin¬ 
ing her arms in those of Alice, in the tenderness of 
sisterly love. Notwithstanding the fearful and men¬ 
acing array of savages on every side of her, no ap¬ 
prehension on her own account could prevent the 
noble-minded maiden from keeping her eyes fastened 
on the pale and anxious features of the trembling 
Alice. Close at their side stood Heyward, with an 
interest in both, that, at such a moment of intense 
uncertainty, scarcely knew a preponderance in favor 
of her whom he most loved. Hawkeye had placed 
himself a little in the rear, with a deference to the 
superior rank of his companions, that no similarity 
in the state of their present fortunes could induce 
him to forget. Uncas was not there. 

When perfect silence was again restored, and af¬ 
ter the usual long, impressive pause, one of the two 
aged chiefs who sat at the side of the patriarch 
arose, and demanded aloud, in very intelligible Eng¬ 
lish— 

“Which of my prisoners is La Longue Carabine ?” 

Neither Duncan nor the scout made any answer. 
The former, however, glanced his eyes around the 
dark and silent assembly, and recoiled apace, when 
they fell on the malignant visage of Magua. He saw, 
at once, that this wily savage had some secret 
agency in their present arraignment before the na¬ 
tion, and determined to throw every possible imped¬ 
iment in the way of the execution of his sinister 
plans. He had witnessed one instance of the sum¬ 
mary punishment of the Indians, and now dreaded 
[435] 


436 


The Last of the Mohicans 


that his companion was to be selected for a second. 
In this dilemma, with little or no time for reflection, 
he suddenly determined to cloak his invaluable 
friend, at any or every hazard to himself. Before he 
had time, however, to speak, the question was re¬ 
peated in a louder voice, and with a clear utterance. 

“Give us arms,” the young man haughtily replied, 
“and place us in yonder woods. Our deeds shall 
speak for us!” 

“This is the warrior whose name has filled our 
ears?” returned the chief, regarding Heyward with 
that sort of curious interest which seems insepar¬ 
able from man when first beholding one of his fel¬ 
lows, to whom merit or accident, virtue or crime, 
has given notoriety. “What has brought the white 
man into the camp of the Delawares?” 

“My necessities. I come for food, shelter, and 
friends.” 

“It cannot be. The woods are full of game. The 
head of a warrior needs no other shelter than a sky 
without clouds, and the Delawares are the enemies 
and not the friends of the Yengeese. Go—your 
mouth has spoken, while your heart has said noth¬ 
ing.” 

Duncan, a little at a loss in what manner to pro¬ 
ceed, remained silent; but the scout, who had lis¬ 
tened attentively to all that passed, now advanced 
steadily to the front. 

“That I did not answer to the call for La Longue 
Carabine was not owing either to shame or fear,” 
he said, “for neither one nor the other is the gift 
of an honest man. But I do not admit the right of 
the Mingoes to bestow a name on one whose friends 
have been mindful of his gifts, in this particular; 
especially as their title is a lie, ‘Killdeer’ being a 
grooved barrel and no carabyne. I ana the naan, how- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


437 


ever, that got the name of )Nathaniel from my kin; 
the compliment of Hawkeye from the Delawares, 
who live on their own river, and whom the Iroquois 
have presumed to style the ‘Long Rifle,’ without any 
warranty from him who is most concerned in the 
matter.” 

The eyes of all present, which had hitherto been 
gravely scanning the person of Duncan, were now 
turned, on the instant, toward the upright iron frame 
of this new pretender to the distinguished appella¬ 
tion. It was in no degree remarkable that there 
should be found two who were willing to claim so 
great an honor, for impostors, though rare, were 
not unknown among the natives; but it was alto¬ 
gether material to the just and severe intentions of 
the Delawares, that there should be no mistake in 
the matter. Some of their old men consulted to¬ 
gether in private, and then, as it would seem, they 
determined to interrogate their visitor on the sub¬ 
ject. 

“My brother has said that a snake crept into my 
camp,” said the chief to Magua. “Which is he?” 

The Huron pointed to the scout. 

“Will a wise Delaware believe the barking of a 
wolf?” exclaimed Duncan, still more confirmed in the 
evil intentions of his ancient enemy. “A dog never 
lies, but when was a wolf known to speak the truth?” 

The eyes of Magua flashed fire; but, suddenly rec¬ 
ollecting the necessity of maintaining his presence 
of mind, he turned away in silent disdain, well as¬ 
sured that the sagacity of the Indians would not 
fail to extract the real merits of the point in con¬ 
troversy. He was not deceived; for, after another 
short consultation, the wary Delaware turned to him 
again, and expressed the determination of the 
chiefs, though in the most considerate language. 


488 


The L4st of the Mohicans 


“My brother has been called a liar,” he said, “and 
his friends are angry. They will show that he has 
spoken the truth. Give my prisoners guns, and let 
them prove which is the man.” 

Magua affected to consider the expedient, which 
he well knew proceeded from distrust of himself, as 
a compliment, and made a gesture of acquiescence, 
well content that his veracity should be supported 
by so skilful a marksman as the scout. The weapons 
were instantly placed in the hands of the friendly 
opponents, and they were bid to fire over the heads 
of the seated multitude at an earthen vessel, which 
lay, by accident, on a stump some fifty yards from 
the place where they stood. 

Heyward smiled to himself at the idea of a compe¬ 
tition with the scout, though he determined to per¬ 
severe in the deception, until apprised of the real 
designs of Magua. Raising his rifle with the ut¬ 
most care, and renewing his aim three several times, 
he fired. The bullet cut the wood within a few 
inches of the vessel; and a general exclamation of 
satisfaction announced that the shot was considered 
a proof of great skill in the use of the weapon. Even 
Hawkeye nodded his head, as if he would say, it 
was better than he had expected. But instead of 
manifesting an intention to contend with the suc¬ 
cessful marksman, he stood leaning on his rifle for 
more than a minute, like a man who was complete¬ 
ly buried in thought. From this reverie he was, 
however, awakened by one of the young Indians who 
had furnished the arms, and who now touched his 
shoulder, saying, in exceedingly broken English,— 

“Can the pale-face beat it?” 

“Yes, Huron!” exclaimed the scout, raising the 
short rifle in his right hand, and shaking it at 
Magua, with as much apparent ease as if it were 


The Last of the Mohicans 


439 


a reed. “Yes, Huron, I could strike you now, and 
no power of ’arth could prevent the deed! The soar¬ 
ing hawk is not more certain of the dove than I 
am this moment of you, did I choose to send a bullet 
to your heart! Why should I not? Why!—because 
the gifts of my color forbid it, and I might draw 
down evil on tender and innocent heads. If you 
know such a being as God, thank Him, therefore, in 
your inward soul; for you have reason.” 

The flushed countenance, angry eye, and swelling 
figure of the scout, produced a sensation of secret 
awe in all that heard him. The Delawares held their 
breath in expectation; but Magua himself, even 
while he distrusted the forbearance of his enemy, 
remained immovable and calm, where he stood 
wedged in by the crowd, as one who grew to the spot. 

“Beat it,’’ replied the young Delaware at the el¬ 
bow of the scout. 

“Beat what, fool? What?” exclaimed Hawkeye, 
still flourishing the weapon angrily above his head, 
though his eye no longer sought the person of 
Magua. 

“If the white man is the warrior he pretends,” said 
the aged chief, “let him strike nigher to the mark.” 

The scout laughed aloud 1 —a noise that produced 
the startling effect of an unnatural sound on Hey¬ 
ward ; then dropping the piece, heavily, into his ex¬ 
tended left hand, it was discharged, apparently by 
the shock, driving the fragments of the vessel into 
the air, and scattering them on every side. Almost 
at the same instant the rattling sound of the rifle 
was heard, as he suffered it to fall, contemptuously, 
to the earth. 

The first impression of so strange a scene was en- 

‘In the first edition “laughed tauntingly and aloud,” 



440 


The Last of the Mohicans 


grossing admiration. Then a low, but increasing, 
murmur ran through the multitude, and finally 
swelled into sounds that dehoted a lively opposition 
in the sentiments of the spectators. While some 
openly testified their satisfaction at such unexam¬ 
pled dexterity, by far the larger portion of the tribe 
were inclined to believe the success of the shot was 
the result of accident. Heyward was not slow to 
confirm an opinion that was so favorable to his own 
pretensions. 

“~t was chance!” he exclaimed. “None can shoot 
without an aim!” 

“Chance!” echoed the excited woodsman, who was 
now stubbornly bent on maintaining his identity at 
every hazard, and on whom the secret hints of Hey¬ 
ward to acquiesce in the deception were entirely 
lost. “Does yonder lying Huron, too, think it 
chance? Give him another gun, and place us face 
to face, without cover or dodge, and let Providence, 
and our own eyes, decide the matter atween us. I 
do not make the offer to you, Major; for our blood 
is of a color, and we serve the same master.” 

“That the Huron is a liar, is very evident,” re¬ 
turned Heyward, coolly. “You have yourself heard 
him assert you to be La Longue Carabine.” 

It were impossible to say what violent assertion 
the stubborn Hawkeye would have next made, in his 
headlong wish to vindicate his identity, had not the 
aged Delaware once more interposed. 

“The hawk which comes from the clouds can re¬ 
turn when he will,” he said. “Give them the guns.” 

This time the scout seized the rifle with avidity; 
nor had Magua, though he watched the movement of 
the marksman with jealous eye, any further cause of 
apprehension. 

“Now let it be proved, in the face of this tribe of 


The Last of the Mohicans 


441 


Delawares, who is the better man,” cried the scout, 
tapping the butt of his piece with that finger which 
had pulled so many fatal triggers. “You see the 
gourd hanging against yonder tree, Major. If you 
are a marksman fit for the borders, let me find that 
you can break its shell!” 

Duncan noted the object, and prepared himself to 
renew the trial. The gourd was one of the usual 
little vessels used by the Indians, and was suspended 
from a dead branch of a small pine, by a thong of 
deer-skin, at the full distance of a hundred yards. 
So strangely compounded is the feeling of self-love, 
that the young soldier, while he knew the utter 
worthlessness of the suffrages of his savage umpires, 
forgot the sudden motive of the contest, in the wish 
to excel. It has been seen, already, that his skill 
was far from being contemptible, and he now re¬ 
solved to put forth its nicest qualities. Had his life 
depended on the issue, the aim of Duncan could not 
have been more deliberate and guarded. He fired; 
and three or four young Indians, who sprang for¬ 
ward at the report, announced with a shout, that 
the ball was in the tree, a very little on one side of 
the proper object. The warriors uttered a common 
ejaculation of pleasure, and then turned their eyes 
inquiringly on the movements of his rival. 

“It may do for the Royal Americans!” said Hawk- 
eye, laughing once more in his own silent, heartfelt 
manner. “But had my gun often turned so much 
from the true line, many a marten, whose skin is 
now in a lady’s muff, would still be in the woods; 
aye, and many a bloody Mingo, who has departed to 
his final account, would be acting his deviltries at 
this very day, atween the provinces. I hope the 
squaw who owns the gourd has more of them in her 
wigwam, for this will never hold water again!” 


442 The Last of the Mohicans 

The scout had shook his priming, and cocked his 
piece, while speaking; and, as he ended, he threw 
back a foot, and slowly raised the muzzle from the 
earth: the motion was steady, uniform, and in one 
direction. When on a perfect level, it remained for 
a single moment, without tremor or variation, as 
though both man and rifle were carved in stone. 
During that stationary instant, it poured forth its 
contents, in a bright, glancing sheet of flame. Again 
the young Indians bounded forward; but their hur¬ 
ried search and disappointed looks announced that 
no traces of the bullet were to be seen. 

“Go!” said the old chief to the scout, in a tone of 
strong disgust. “Thou art a wolf in the skin of a 
dog. I will talk to the ‘Long Rifle’ of the Yengeese.” 

“Ah! had I that piece which furnished the name 
you use, I would obligate" myself to cut the thong, 
and drop the gourd without breaking it!” returned 
Hawkeye, perfectly undisturbed by the other’s man¬ 
ner. “Fools, if you would find the bullet of a sharp¬ 
shooter of these woods, you must look in the object 
and not around it!” 

The Indian youths instantly comprehended his 
meaning—for this time he spoke in the Delaware 
tongue—and tearing the gourd from the tree, they 
held it on high with an exulting shout, displaying a 
hole in its bottom, which had been cut by the bullet, 
after passing through the usual orifice in the center 
of its upper side. At this unexpected exhibition, a 
loud and vehement expression of pleasure burst from 
the mouth of every warrior present. It decided the 
question, and effectually established Hawkeye in the 
possession of his dangerous reputation. Those cur¬ 
ious and admiring eyes which had been turned again 
on Heyward, were finally directed to the weather- 


*Better usage would substitute “pledge” or “guarantee.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


443 


beaten form of the scout, who immediately be¬ 
came the principal object of attention to the simple 
and unsophisticated beings by whom he was sur¬ 
rounded. When the sudden and noisy commotion 
had a little subsided, the aged chief resumed his 
examination. 

“Why did you wish to stop my ears?” he said, ad¬ 
dressing Duncan. “Are the Delawares fools, that 
they could not know the young panther from the 
cat?” 

“They will yet find the Huron a singing-bird,” 3 
said Duncan, endeavoring to adopt the figurative lan¬ 
guage of the natives. 

“It is good. We will know who can shut the ears 
of men. Brother,” added the chief, turning his eyes 
on Magua, “the Delawares listen.” 

Thus singled, and directly called on to declare his 
object, the Huron arose, and advancing with great 
deliberation and dignity, into the very center of the 
circle, where he stood confronted to the prisoners, he 
placed himself in an attitude to speak. Before open¬ 
ing his mouth, however, he bent his eyes slowly along 
the whole living boundary of earnest faces, as if to 
temper his expressions to the capacities of his audi¬ 
ence. On Hawkeye he cast a glance of respectful 
enmity; on Duncan, a look of inextinguishable 
hatred; the shrinking figure of Alice, he scarcely 
deigned to notice; but when his glance met the firm, 
commanding, and yet lovely form of Cora, his eyes 
lingered a moment, with an expression that it might 
have been difficult to define. Then, filled with his 
own dark intentions, he spoke in the language of 
the Canadas, a tongue that he well knew was com¬ 
prehended by most of his auditors. 

“The Spirit that made men, colored them different- 


3 A liar, as in XXX. 



444 


The Last of the Mohicans 


ly,” commenced the subtle Huron. “Some are black¬ 
er than the sluggish bear. These he said should be 
slaves; and he ordered them to work forever, like 
the beaver. You may hear them groan, when the 
south winds blow, louder than the lowing buffaloes, 
along the shores of the great salt water, where the 
big canoes come and go with them in droves. Some 
he made with faces paler than the ermine of the 
forests: and these he ordered to be traders; dogs to 
their women, and wolves to their slaves. He gave 
this people the nature of the pigeon; wings that 
never tire; young, more plentiful than the leaves on 
the trees, and appetites to devour the earth. He 
gave them tongues like the false call of the wild-cat; 
hearts like rabbits; the cunning of the hog (but none 
of the fox), and arms longer than the legs of the 
moose. With his tongue, he stops the ears of the In¬ 
dians; his heart teaches him to pay warriors to fight 
his battles; his cunning tells him how to get together 
the goods of the earth; and his arms enclose the 
land, from the shores of the salt water, to the islands 
of the great lake. His gluttony makes him sick. God 
gave him enough, and yet he wants all. Such are 
the pale-faces. 

“Some the Great Spirit made with skins brighter 
and redder than yonder sun,” continued Magua, 
pointing impressively upwards to the lurid lumi¬ 
nary, which was struggling through the misty at¬ 
mosphere of the horizon, “and these did he fashion 
to his own mind. He gave them this island as he 
had made it, covered with trees, and filled with 
game. The wind made their clearings; the sun and 
rains ripened their fruits; and the snows came to 
tell them to be thankful. What need had they of 
roads to journey by! They saw through the hills! 
When the beavers worked, they lay in the shade, and 


The Last of the Mohicans 


445 


looked on. The winds cooled them in summer; in 
winter, skins kept them warm. If they fought among 
themselves, it was to prove that they were men. They 
were brave; they were just; they were happy.” 

Here the speaker paused, and again looked around 
him, to discover if his legend had touched the sym¬ 
pathies of his listeners. He met everywhere with 
eyes riveted on his own, heads erect, and nostrils 
expanded, as if each individual present felt himself 
able and willing, singly, to redress the wrongs of 
his race. 

“If the Great Spirit gave different tongues to his 
red children,” he continued, in a low, still melan¬ 
choly voice, “it was that all animals might under¬ 
stand them. Some he placed among the snows, with 
their cousin the bear. Some he placed near the set¬ 
ting sun, on the road to the happy hunting-grounds; 
some on the lands around the great fresh waters; 
but to his greatest, and most beloved, he gave the 
sands of the salt lake. Do my brothers know the 
name of this favored people?” 

“It was the Lenape!” exclaimed twenty eager 
voices, in a breath. 

“It was the Lenni-Lenape,” returned Magua, af¬ 
fecting to bend his head in reverence to their former 
greatness. “It was the tribes of the Lenape! The 
sun rose from the water that was salt and set in 
water that was sweet and never hid himself from 
their eyes. But why should I, a Huron of the woods, 
tell a wise people their own traditions? Why re¬ 
mind them of their injuries; their ancient greatness; 
their deeds; their glory; their happiness—their 
losses; their defeats; their misery? Is there not one 
among them who has seen it all, and who knows it 
to be true? I have done. My tongue is still but my 
ears are open.” 


446 


The Last of the Mohicans 


As the voice of the speaker suddenly ceased, every 
face and all eyes turned, by a common movement, 
towards the venerable Tamenund. From the moment 
that he took his seat, until the present instant, the 
lips of the patriarch had not severed, nor had scarce¬ 
ly a sign of life escaped him. He had sat, bent in 
feebleness, and apparently unconscious of the pres¬ 
ence he was in, during the whole of that opening 
scene, in which the skill of the scout had been so 
clearly established. At the nicely graduated sounds 
of Magua’s voice, however, he had betrayed some 
evidence of consciousness, and once or twice he had 
even raised his head as if to listen. But when the 
crafty Huron spoke of his nation by name, the eye¬ 
lids of the old man raised themselves, and he looked 
out on the multitude, with that sort of dull, unmean¬ 
ing expression, which might be supposed to belong 
to the countenance of a specter. 

Then he made an effort to rise, and being upheld 
by his supporters, he gained his feet in a posture 
commanding by its dignity, while he tottered with 
weakness. 

“Who calls upon the children of the Lenape?” he 
said, in a deep, guttural voice, that was rendered 
awfully audible by the breathless silence of the mul¬ 
titude. “Who speaks of things gone? Does not the 
egg become a worm—the worm a fly—and perish! 
Why tell the Delawares of good that is past? Bet¬ 
ter thank the Manitto 4 for that which remains.” 

“It is a Wyandot,” said Magua, stepping nigher to 
the rude platform on which the other stood, “a friend 
of Tamenund.” 

“A friend!” repeated the sage, on whose brow a 
dark frown settled, imparting a portion of that se¬ 
verity which had rendered his eye so terrible in mid- 

4 Heckewelder’s spelling. Now commonly Manitou. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


447 


die age. “Are the Mingoes rulers of the earth? 
What brings a Huron here?” 

“Justice. His prisoners are with his brothers, and 
he comes for his own.” 

Tamenund turned his head towards one of his 
supporters, and listened to the short explanation the 
man gave. Then facing the applicant, he regarded 
him a moment with deep attention; after which he 
said, in a low and reluctant voice,— 

“Justice is the law of the great Manitto. My chil¬ 
dren, give the stranger food. Then, Huron, take 
thine own and depart.” 

On the delivery of this solemn judgment, the 
patriarch seated himself, and closed his eyes again, 
as if better pleased with the images of his own 
ripened experience than with the visible objects of 
the world. Against such a decree there was no Dela¬ 
ware sufficiently hardy to murmur, much less oppose 
himself. The words were barely uttered when four 
or five of the younger warriors, stepping behind 
Heyward and the scout, passed thongs so dexterously 
and rapidly around their arms, as to hold them 
both in instant bondage. The former was too much 
engrossed with his precious and nearly insensible 
burden, to be aware of their intentions before they 
were executed; and the latter, who considered even 
the hostile tribes of the Delawares a superior race 
of beings, submitted without resistance. Perhaps, 
however, the manner of the scout would not have 
been so passive, had he fully comprehended the lan¬ 
guage in which the preceding dialogue had been con¬ 
ducted. 

Magua cast a look of triumph around the whole 
assembly before he proceeded to the execution of 
his purpose. Perceiving that the men were unable 
to offer any resistance, he turned his looks on her 


448 


The Last of the Mohicans 


he valued most. Cora met his gaze with an eye so 
calm and firm that his resolution wavered. Then 
recollecting his former artifice he raised Alice from 
the arms of the warrior against whom she leaned, 
and beckoning Heyward to follow, he motioned for 
the encircling crowd to open. But Cora, instead oi 
obeying the impulse he had expected, rushed to the 
feet of the patriarch, and raising her voice, ex¬ 
claimed aloud— 

“Just and venerable Delaware, on thy wisdom and 
power we lean for mercy! Be deaf to yonder artful 
and remorseless monster, who poisons thy ears with 
falsehoods to feed his thirst for blood. Thou that 
hast lived long, and that hast seen the evil of the 
world, should 5 know how to temper its calamities to 
the miserable.” 

The eyes of the old man opened heavily, and he 
once more looked upward at the multitude. As the 
piercing tones of the suppliant swelled on his ears, 
they moved slowly in the direction of her person, 
and finally settled there in a steady gaze . 6 Cora had 
cast herself to her knees; and, with hands clenched 
in each other and pressed upon her bosom, she re¬ 
mained like a beauteous and breathing model of 
her sex, looking up in his faded but majestic coun¬ 
tenance, with a species of holy reverence. Gradually 
the expression of Tamenund’s features changed, and 
losing their vacancy in admiration, they lighted with 
a portion of that intelligence which a century be¬ 
fore had been wont to communicate his youthful 
fire to the extensive bands of the Delawares. Rising 
without assistance, and seemingly without an effort, 
he demanded, in a voice that startled its auditors by 
its firmness— 

8 Tlie expected form would be “shouldst.” 

•^Rearrange this sentence ; improving it. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


449 


“What art thou?” 

“A woman. One of a hated race;Tf^4hoi]jd4t^ 
Yengee. But one who has never harmed thee, and 
who cannot harm thy people if she would; who asks 
for succor.” 

“Tell me, my children,” continued the patriarch, 
hoarsely, motioning to those around him, though his 
eyes still dwelt upon the kneeling form of Cora, 
“where have the Delawares camped?” 7 

“In the mountains of the Iroquois; beyond the 
clear springs of the Horican.” 

“Many parching summers are come and gone,” 
continued the sage, “since I drank of the waters of 
my own rivers. 8 The children of Miquon 9 are the 
justest white men; but they were thirsty, and they 
took it to themselves. Do they follow us so far?” 

“We follow none; we covet nothing,” answered 
the ardent Cora. “Captives against our wills have 
we been brought amongst you; and we ask but per¬ 
mission to depart to our own, in peace. Art thou 

‘In the first edition in half-quotes, ‘camped.’ 

8 In the first edition “river.” 

9 William Penn was termed Miquon by the Delawares, 
and as he never used violence or injustice in his dealings 
with them, his reputation for probity passed into a proverb. 
The American is justly proud of the origin of his nation, 
which is perhaps unequalled in the history of the world; but 
the Pennsylvanian and Jerseyman have more reason to 
value themselves in their ancestors than the natives of 
any other state, since no wrong was done the original 
owners of the soil. [Cooper's Note.] 

Miquon is a Delaware word meaning quill feather, which 
became used as a name for William Penn. Heckewelder 
gives the name as Miquon and it so appears throughout the 
first edition of The Last of The Mohicans. The edition 
of 1859 has Minquon in this passage but Miquon else¬ 
where. Many present-day editions have Minquon through¬ 
out. 



450 


The Last of the Mohicans 


not Tamenund—the father—the judge—I had al¬ 
most said, the prophet—of this people?” 

“I am Tamenund, of many days.” 

“’Tis now some seven years that one of thy people 
was at the mercy of a white chief, on the borders 
of this province. He claimed to be of the blood of 
the good and just Tamenund. ‘Go/ said the white 
man, ‘for thy parent’s sake, thou art free.’ Dost 
thou remember the name of that English warrior?” 

“I remember, that when a laughing boy,” returned 
the patriarch, with the peculiar recollection of vast 
age, “I stood upon the sands of the sea-shore, and 
saw a big canoe with wings whiter than the swan’s 
and wider than many eagles, come from the rising 
sun—” 

“Nay, nay; I speak not of a time so very distant; 
but of favor shown to thy kindred by one of mine, 
within the memory of thy youngest warrior.” 

“Was it when the Yengeese and the Dutchmanne 10 
fought for the hunting-grounds of the Delawares? 
Then Tamenund was a chief, and first laid aside the 
bow for the lightning 11 of the pale-faces—” 

“Nor yet then,” interrupted Cora, “by many ages; 
I speak of a thing of yesterday. Surely, surely, you 
forget it not.” 

“It was but yesterday,” rejoined the aged man, 
with touching pathos, “that the children of the Len- 
ape were masters of the world. The fishes of the 
salt lake, the birds, the beasts, and the Mengwe of the 
woods owned them for sagamores.” 

Cora bowed her head in disappointment, and, for 
a bitter moment, struggled with her chagrin. Then 
elevating her rich features and beaming eyes, she 
continued, in tones scarcely less penetrating than 


lu “Dutchemanne” in The first edition. See Glossary. 
“That is, for firearms. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


451 


the unearthly voice of the patriarch himself — 
“Tell me, is Tamenund a father?” 

The old man looked down upon her from his ele¬ 
vated stand, with a benignant smile on his wasted 
countenance, and then casting his eyes slowly over 
the whole assemblage, he answered — 

“Of a nation.” 

“For myself I ask nothing. Like thee and thine, 
venerable chief,” she continued, pressing her hands 
convulsively on her heart, and suffering her head 
to droop until her burning cheeks were nearly con¬ 
cealed in the maze of dark glossy tresses that fell in 
disorder upon her shoulders, “the curse of my an¬ 
cestors has fallen heavily on their child. But yon¬ 
der is one who has never known the weight of Heav¬ 
en’s displeasure until now. She is the daughter of 
an old and failing man, whose days are near their 
close. She has many, very many, to love her, and 
delight in her; and she is too good, much too prec¬ 
ious, to become the victim of that villain.” 

“I know that the pale-faces are a proud and hun¬ 
gry race. I know that they claim not only to have 
the earth, but that the meanest of their color is 
better than the sachems of the red-man. The dogs 
and crows of their tribes,” continued the earnest old 
chieftain, without heeding the wounded spirit of his 
listener, whose head was nearly crushed to the earth 
in shame, as he proceeded, “would bark and caw be¬ 
fore they would take a woman to their wigwams 
vvhose blood was not of the color of snow. But let 
them not boast before the face of the Manitto too 
loud. They entered the land at the rising, and may 
yet go off at the setting sun. I have often seen the 
locusts strip the leaves from the trees, but the sea¬ 
son of blossoms has always come again.” 

“It is so,” said Cora, drawing a long breath, as if 


452 


The Last of the Mohicans 


reviving from a trance, raising her face, and shak¬ 
ing back her shining veil, with a kindling eye, that 
contradicted the deathlike paleness of her coun¬ 
tenance, “but why—it is not permitted us to inquire. 
There is yet one of thine own people who has not 
been brought before thee; before thou lettest the 
Huron depart in triumph, hear him speak.” 

Observing Tamenund to look about him doubting- 
ly, one of his companions said— 

“It is a snake—a red-skin in the pay of the Yen- 
geese. We keep him for the torture.” 

“Let him come,” returned the sage. 

Then Tamenund once more sank into his seat, and 
a silence so deep prevailed, while the young man 
prepared to obey his simple mandate, that the leaves, 
which fluttered in the draught of the light morning 
air, were distinctly heard rustling in the surround¬ 
ing forest. 


CHAPTER XXX 


“If you deny me, fie upon your law! 

There is no force in the decrees of Venice: 

I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?” 

— Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, IV, i. 

The silence continued unbroken by human sounds 
for many anxious minutes. Then the waving mul¬ 
titude opened, and shut again, and Uncas stood en¬ 
vironed by the living circle. All those eyes which 
had been curiously studying the lineaments of the 
sage, as the source of their own intelligence, turned 
on the instant, and were now bent in secret admira¬ 
tion on the erect, agile, and faultless person of the 
captive: but neither the presence in which he found 
himself, nor the exclusive attention that he attract¬ 
ed, in any manner disturbed the self-possession of 
the young Mohican. He cast a deliberate and ob¬ 
serving look on every side of him, meeting the set¬ 
tled expression of hostility, that lowered in the vis¬ 
age of the chiefs, with the same calmness as the 
curious gaze of the attentive children. But when, 
last, in his keen and haughty scrutiny, the person 
of Tamenund came under his glance, his eye be¬ 
came as fixed as though all other objects were al¬ 
ready forgotten. Then advancing, with a slow and 
noiseless step, up the area, he placed himself im¬ 
mediately before the footstool of the sage. Here he 
stood unnoted, though keenly observant himself, un¬ 
til one of the chiefs apprised the latter of his 
presence. 

“With what tongue does the prisoner speak to the 
Manitto?” demanded the patriarch, without unclos¬ 
ing his eyes. 

“Like his fathers,” Uncas replied, “with the tongue 
of a Delaware.” 


[ 453 ] 


454 


The Last of the Mohicans 


At this sudden and unexpected annunciation, a 
low, fierce yell ran through the multitude, that might 
not inaptly be compared to the growl of the lion, 
as his choler is first awakened—a fearful omen of 
the weight of his future anger. The effect was 
equally strong on the sage, though differently ex¬ 
hibited. He passed a hand before his eyes, as if 
to exclude the least evidence of so shameful a spec¬ 
tacle, while he repeated, in his low and deeply gut¬ 
tural tones, the words he had just heard. 

“A Delaware! I have lived to see the tribes of 
the Lenape driven from their council-fires, and scat¬ 
tered like broken herds of deer among the hills of 
the Iroquois! I have seen the hatchets of a strange 
people sweep woods from the valleys, that the winds 
of heaven had spared! The beasts that run on the 
mountains, and the birds that fly above the trees, 
have I seen living in the wigwams of men; but never 
before have I found a Delaware so base as to creep, 
like a poisonous serpent, into the camps of his na¬ 
tion.” 

“The singing-birds have opened their bills,” re¬ 
turned Uncas, in the softest notes of his own mu¬ 
sical voice, “and Tamenund has heard their song.” 

The sage started and bent his head aside, as if 
to catch the fleeting sounds of some passing melody. 

“Does Tamenund dream!” he exclaimed. “What 
voice is at his ear! Have the winters gone back¬ 
ward! Will summer come again to the children of 
the Lenape!” 

A solemn and respectful silence succeeded this 
incoherent burst from the lips of the Delaware 
prophet. His people readily construed his unin¬ 
telligible language into one of those mysterious con¬ 
ferences he was believed to hold so frequently with 
a superior intelligence, and they awaited the issue 
of the revelation in secret awe. After a long and 


The Last of the Mohicans 


455 


patient pause, however, one of the aged men, per¬ 
ceiving that the sage had lost the recollection of 
the subject before them, ventured to remind him 
again of the presence of the prisoner. 

‘‘The false Delaware trembles lest he should hear 
the words of Tamenund,” he said. “ ’Tis a hound 
that howls, when the Yengeese show him a trail.” 

“And ye,” returned Uncas, looking sternly around 
him, “are dogs that whine when the Frenchman 
casts ye the olfals of his deer!” 

Twenty knives gleamed in the air, and as many 
warriors sprang to their feet, at this biting, and 
perhaps merited, retort; but a motion from one of 
the chiefs suppressed the outbreaking of their tem¬ 
pers, and restored the appearance of quiet. The 
task might possibly have been more difficult, had 
not a movement made by Tamenund indicated that 
he was again about to speak. 

“Delaware!” resumed the sage, “little art thou 
worthy of thy name. My people have not seen a 
bright sun in many winters; and the warrior who 
deserts his tribe when hid in clouds is doubly a 
traitor. The law of the Manitto is just. It is so; 
while the rivers run and the mountains stand, while 
the blossoms come and go on the trees, it must be 
so. He is thine, my children; deal justly by him.” 

Not a limb was moved, nor was a breath drawn 
louder and longer than common, until the closing 
syllable of this final decree had passed the lips of 
Tamenund. Then a cry of vengeance burst at once, 
as it might be, from the united lips of the nation; 
a frightful augury of their ruthless intentions. In 
the midst of these prolonged and savage yells, a 
chief proclaimed, in a high voice, that the captive 
was condemned to endure the dreadful trial of tor¬ 
ture by fire. The circle broke its order, and screams 


456 


The Last of the Mohicans 


of delight mingled with the bustle and tumult of 
preparation. Heyward struggled madly with his 
captors; the anxious eyes of Hawkeye began to look 
around him, with an expression of peculiar earnest¬ 
ness; and Cora again threw herself at the feet of 
the patriarch, once more a suppliant for mercy. 

Throughout the whole of these trying moments, 
Uncas had alone preserved his serenity. He looked 
on the preparations with a steady eye, and when 
the tormentors came to seize him, he met them with 
a firm and upright attitude. One among them, if 
possible, more fierce and savage than his fellows, 
seized the hunting-shirt of the young warrior, and at 
a single effort tore it from his body. Then, with a 
yell of frantic pleasure, he leaped towards his un¬ 
resisting victim, and prepared to lead him to the 
stake. But, at that moment, when he appeared most 
a stranger to the feelings of humanity, the purpose 
of the savage was arrested as suddenly as if a 
supernatural agency had interposed in the behalf of 
Uncas. The eyeballs of the Delaware seemed to 
start from their sockets; his mouth opened and his 
whole form became frozen in an attitude of amaze¬ 
ment. Raising his hand with a slow and regulated 
motion, he pointed with a finger to the bosom of 
the captive. His companions crowded about him 
in wonder and every eye was, like his own, fastened 
intently on the figure of a small tortoise, beauti¬ 
fully tattooed on the breast of the prisoner, in a 
bright blue tint. 

For a single instant, Uncas enjoyed his triumph, 
smiling calmly on the scene. Then motioning the 
crowd away, with a high and haughty sweep of his 
arm, he advanced in front of the nation, with the 
air of a king, and spoke in a voice louder than the 
murmur of admiration that ran through the mul¬ 
titude. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


457 


“Men of the Lenni-Lenape!” he said, “my race 
upholds the earth! Your feeble tribe stands on my 
shell! What fire, that a Delaware can light, would 
burn the child of my fathers ?” he added, pointing 
proudly to the simple blazonry on his skin. “The 
blood that came from such a stock, would smother 
your flames! My race is the grandfather of na¬ 
tions!” 

“Who art thou?” demanded Tamenund, rising, at 
the startling tones he heard, more than any mean¬ 
ing conveyed by the language of the prisoner. 

“Uncas, the* son of Chingachgook,” answered the 
captive, modestly turning from the nation, and bend¬ 
ing his head in reverence to the other’s character 
and years, “a son of the Great Unamis .” 1 

“The hour of Tamenund is nigh!” exclaimed the 
sage. “The day is come, at last, to the night! I thank 
the Manitto, that one is here to fill my place at the 
council-fire. Uncas, the child of Uncas, is found! 
Let the eyes of a dying eagle gaze on the rising 
sun.” 

The youth stepped lightly, but proudly, on the 
platform, where he became visible to the whole agi¬ 
tated and wondering multitude. Tamenund held 
him long at the length of his arm, and read every 
turn in the fine and lofty lineaments of his coun¬ 
tenance, with the untiring gaze of one who recalled 
the days of his own happiness by the examination. 

“Is Tamenund a boy?” at length the bewildered 
prophet exclaimed. “Have I dreamt of so many 
snows—that my people were scattered like floating 
sands—of Yengeese, more plenty than the leaves on 
the. trees? The arrow of Tamenund would not 
frighten the young fawn; his arm is withered like 
the branch of the dying oak; the snail would be 
swifter in the race; yet is Uncas before him, as 

^Turtle. [Cooper’s Note.] 



458 The Last of the Mohicans 

they went to battle, against the pale-faces! Uncas, 
the panther of his tribe, the eldest son of the Len- 
ape, the wisest sagamore of the Mohicans! Tell me, 
ye Delawares, has Tamenund been a sleeper for a 
hundred winters?” 

The calm and deep silence which succeeded these 
words, sufficiently announced the awful reverence 
with which his people received the communication 
of the patriarch. None dared to answer, though all 
listened in breathless expectation of what might 
follow. Uncas, however, looking in his face with 
the fondness and veneration of a favored child, pre¬ 
sumed on his own high and acknowledged rank, to 
reply. 

“Four warriors of his race have lived, and died,” 
he said, “since the friend of Tamenund led his peo¬ 
ple in battle. The blood of the Turtle 2 has been 
in many chiefs, but all have gone back into the earth 
from whence they came except Chingachgook and 
his son.” 

“It is true—it is true,” returned the sage; a flash 
of recollection destroying all his pleasing fancies, 
and restoring him at once to a consciousness of the 
true history of his nation. “Our wise men have 
often said that two warriors of the unchanged 3 race 
were in the hills of the Yengeese; why have their 
seats at the council-fires of the Delawares been so 
long empty?” 

At these words the young man raised his head, 
which he had still kept bowed a little, in reverence; 
and lifting his voice so as to be heard by the mul¬ 
titude, as if to explain at once and forever the pol¬ 
icy of his family, he said aloud— 

“Once we slept where we could hear the salt lake 
speak in its anger. Then we were rulers and saga- 

a The totem of the Delawares. 

half quotes (‘unchanged’) in the first edition, 



The Hast of the Mohicans 


459 


mores over the land. But when a pale-face was 
seen on every brook, we followed the deer back to 
the river of our nation. The Delawares were gone. 
Few warriors of them all stayed to drink of the 
stream they loved. Then said my fathers, ‘Here 
will we hunt. The waters of the river go into the 
salt lake. If we go towards the setting sun, we 
shall find streams that run into the great lakes of 
sweet water. There would a Mohican die, like fishes 
of the sea, in the clear springs. When the Manitto 
is ready, and shall say “Come,” we will follow the 
river to the sea, and take our own again .’ 4 Such, 
Delawares, is the belief of the children of the Tur¬ 
tle. Our eyes are on the rising, and not towards 
the setting sun. We know whence he comes, but 
we know not whither he goes. It is enough.” 

The men of the Lenape listened to his words with 
all the respect that superstition could lend, finding 
a secret charm even in the figurative language with 
which the young sagamore imparted his ideas. 
Uncas himself watched the effect of his brief explan¬ 
ation with intelligent eyes, and gradually dropped 
the air of authority he had assumed, as he per¬ 
ceived that his auditors were content. Then per¬ 
mitting his looks to wander over the silent throng 
that crowded around the elevated seat of Tamen- 
und, he first perceived Hawkeye, in his bonds. 
Stepping eagerly from his stand, he made a way 
for himself to the side of his friend, and cutting 
his thong with a quick and angry stroke of his own 
knife, he motioned to the crowd to divide. The 
grave and attentive Indians silently obeyed, and 

4 It was an Indian tradition that some day the great 
Spirit will turn his face and the Indians will regain pos¬ 
session of their lands. 



460 The Last of the Mohicans 

once more they stood ranged in their circle, as 
before his appearance among them. Uncas then 
took the scout by the hand, and led him to the feet 
of the patriarch. 

“Father/’ he said, “look at this pale-face; a just 
man, and the friend of the Delawares.” 

“Is he a son of Miquon?” 

“Not so; a warrior known to the Yengeese, and 
feared by the Maquas.” 

“What name has he gained by his deeds?” 

“We call him Hawkeye,” Uncas replied, using the 
Delaware phrase, “for his sight never fails. The 
Mingoes know him better by the death he gives their 
warriors; with them he is The Long Rifle.’ ” 

“La Longue Carabine!” exclaimed Tamenund, 
opening his eyes, and regarding the scout sternly. 
“My son has not done well to call him friend.” 

“I call him so who proves himself such,” re¬ 
turned the young chief, with great calmness, but 
with a steady mien. “If Uncas is welcome among 
the Delawares, then is Hawkeye with his friends.” 

“.The pale-face has slain my young men; his name • 
is great for the blows he has struck the Lenape,” 

“If a Mingo has whispered that much in the ear 
of the Delaware, he has only shown that he is a 
singing-bird,” said the scout, who now believed that 
it was time to vindicate himself from such offen¬ 
sive charges, and who spoke in the tongue of the 
man he addressed, modifying his Indian figures, 
however, with his own peculiar notions. “That I 
have slain the Maquas I am not the man to deny, 
even at their own council-fires; but that, knowingly, 
my hand has ever harmed a Delaware is opposed 
to the reason of my gifts, which is friendly to them, 
and all that belongs to their nation.” 

A low exclamation of applause among the war- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


461 


riors, who exchanged looks with each other like men 
that first began to perceive their error. 

“Where is the Huron ?” demanded Tamenund. 
“Has he stopped my ears?” 

Magua, whose feelings during that scene in which 
Uncas had triumphed may be much better imagined 
than described, answered to the call by stepping 
boldly in front of the patriarch. 

“The just Tamenund,” he said, “will not keep 
what a Huron has lent.” 

“Tell me, son of my brother,” returned the sage, 
avoiding the dark countenance of Le Subtil, and 
turning gladly to the more ingenuous features of 
Uncas, “has the stranger a conqueror’s right over 
you?” 

“He has none. The panther may get into snares 
set by the women; but he is strong, and knows how 
to leap through them.” 

“La Longue Carabine?” 

“Laughs at the Mingoes. Go, Huron, ask your 
squaws the color of a bear.” 

“The stranger and the white maiden that came into 
my camp together?” 

“Should journey on an open path.” 

“And the woman that Huron left with my war¬ 
riors?” 

Uncas made no reply. 

“And the woman that the Mingo has brought into 
my camp,” repeated Tamenund, gravely. 

“She is mine,” cried Magua, shaking his hands 
in triumph at Uncas. “Mohican, you know that she 
is mine .” 5 

5 Cora was placed among the Delawares for safe-keep¬ 
ing by Magua and therefore the Delawares are not free 
to release her. Heyward and Alice had come to the camp 
voluntarily, and so had the scout and the freed Uncas. 
Their fate rests with the Delawares, not with Magua. 



462 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“My son is silent,” said Tamenund, endeavoring 
to read the expression of the face that the youth 
turned from him in sorrow. 

“It is so,” was the low answer. 

A short and impressive pause succeeded, during 
which it was very apparent with what reluctance 
the multitude admitted the justice of the Mingo’s 
claim. At length the sage, on whom alone the de¬ 
cision depended, said, in a firm voice— 

“Huron, depart.” 

“As he came, just Tamenund,” demanded the wily 
Magua, “or with hands filled with the faith of the 
Delawares? The wigwam of Le Renard Subtil is 
empty. Make him strong with his own.” 

The aged man mused with himself for a time; and 
then bending his head towards one of his vener¬ 
able companions, he asked — 

“Are my ears open?” 

“It is true.” 

“Is this Mingo a chief?” 

“The first in his nation.” 

“Girl, what wouldst thou! A great warrior takes 
thee to wife. Go, thy* race will not end.” 

“Better a thousand times it should,” exclaimed 
the horror-struck Cora, “than meet with such a 
degradation!” 

“Huron, her mind is in the tents of her fathers. 
An unwilling maiden makes an unhappy wigwam.” 

“She speaks with the tongue of her people,” re¬ 
turned Magua, regarding his victim with a look of 
bitter irony. “She is of a race of traders, and will 
bargain for a bright look. Let Tamenund speak 
the words?” 

“Take ydu the wampum, and our love.” 

“Nothing hence, but what Magua brought hither.” 

“Then depart with thine own. The Great Manitto 
forbids that a Delaware should be unjust,” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


463 


Magua advanced, and seized his captive strong¬ 
ly by the arm; the Delawares fell back, in silence; 
and Cora, as if conscious that remonstrance would 
be useless, prepared to submit to her fate without 
resistance. 

“Hold, hold!” cried Duncan, springing forward, 
“Huron, have mercy! Her ransom shall make thee 
richer than any of thy people were even yet known 
to be/-’ 

“Magua is a red-skin; he wants not the beads of 
the pale-faces/’ 

“Gold, silver, powder, lead, all that a warrior 
needs, shall be in thy wigwam; all that becomes the 
greatest chief.” 

“Le Subtil is very strong,” cried Magua, violently 
shaking the hand which grasped the unresisting 
arm of Cora, “He has his revenge!” 

“Mighty ruler of providence!” exclaimed Heyward, 
clasping his hands together in agony, “can this be 
suffered? To you, just Tamenund, I appeal for 
mercy.” 

“The words of the Delaware are said,” returned 
the sage, closing his eyes, and dropping back into 
his seat, alike wearied with his mental and his bod¬ 
ily exertion. “Men speak not twice.” 

“That a chief should not misspend his time in 
unsaying what he has once spoken, is wise and rea¬ 
sonable,” said Hawkeye, motioning to Duncan to be 
silent. “But it is also prudent in every warrior to 
consider well before he strikes his tomahawk into 
the head of his prisoner. Huron, I love you not: 
nor can I say that any Mingo has ever received much 
favor at my hands. It is fair to conclude that, if 
this war does not soon end, many more of your war¬ 
riors will meet me in the woods. Put it to your 
judgment, then, whether you would prefer taking 


464 The Last of the Mohicans 

i 

such a prisoner as that into your encampment, or 
one like myself, who am a man that it would greatly 
rejoice your nation to see with naked hands.” 

“Will ‘The Long Rifle’ give his life for the wo¬ 
man?” demanded Magua, hesitatingly; for he had 
already made a motion towards quitting the place 
with his victim. 

“No, no; I have not said so much as that,” re¬ 
turned Hawkeye, drawing back with suitable dis¬ 
cretion, when he noted the eagerness with which 
Magua listened to his proposal. “It would be an un¬ 
equal exchange, to give a warrior, in the prime of 
his age and usefulness, for the best woman on the 
frontiers. I might consent to go into winter-quar¬ 
ters, now—at least six weeks afore the leaves will 
turn—on condition you will release the maiden.” 

Magua shook his head, and made an impatient 
sign for the crowd to open. 

“Well, then,” added the scout, with the musing air 
of a man who had not half made up his mind, “I 
will throw ‘Killdeer’ into the bargain. Take the 
word of an experienced hunter, the piece has not 
its equal atween the provinces.” 

Magua still disdained to reply, continuing his 
efforts to disperse the crowd. 

“Perhaps,” added the scout, losing his dissembled 
coolness, exactly in proportion as the other mani¬ 
fested an indifference to the exchange, “if I should 
condition to teach your young men the real virtue 
of the we’pon, it would smooth the little differences 
in our judgments.” 

Le Renard fiercely ordered the Delawares, who 
still lingered in an impenetrable belt around him, 
in hopes he would listen to the amicable proposal, 
to open his path, threatening, by the glance of his 


The Last of the Mohicans 


465 


eye, another appeal to the infallible justice of their 
“prophet.” 

“What is ordered, must sooner or later arrive,” 
continued Hawkeye, turning with a sad and humbled 
look to Uncas. “The varlet knows his advantage, 
and will keep it! God bless you, boy; you have 
found friends among your natural kin, and I hope 
they will prove as true as some you have met, who 
had no Indian cross. As for me, sooner or later, 
I must die; it is therefore fortunate there are but 
few to make my death-howl! After all, it is likely 
the imps would have managed to master my scalp, 
so a day or two will make no great difference in 
the everlasting reckoning of time. God bless you,” 
added the rugged woodsman, bending his head 
aside, with quivering muscles, and then instantly 
changing his direction again, with a wistful look 
towards the youth: “I loved both you and your 
father, Uncas, though our skins are not altogether 
of a color, and our gifts are somewhat different. 
Tell the Sagamore I never lost sight of him in my 
greatest trouble; and as for you, think of me some¬ 
times, when on a lucky trail; and depend on it, boy, 
whether there be one heaven or two, there is a 
path in the other world, by which honest men may 
come together again. You’ll find the rifle in the 
place we hid it; take it and keep it for my sake; 
and harkee, lad, as your natural gifts don’t deny 
you the use of vengeance, use it a little freely on 
the Mingoes; it may unburden your grief at my 
loss, and ease your mind. Huron, 1 accept your 
offer. Release the lady. I am your prisoner.” 

A suppressed, but still distinct murmur of ap¬ 
probation ran through the crowd at this generous 
proposition; even the fiercest among the Delaware 
warriors manifesting pleasure at the manliness of 
the intended sacrifice. Magua paused, and for an 


466 


The Last of the Mohicans 


anxious moment, it might be said, he doubted; then 
casting his eyes on Cora, with an expression in 
which ferocity and admiration were strangely 
mingled, his purpose became fixed forever. 

He intimated his contempt of the offer with a 
backward motion of his head, and said, in a steady 
and settled voice— 

“Le Renard Subtil is a great chief; he has but 
one mind. Come,” he added, laying his hand too 
familiarly on the shoulder of his captive to urge 
her onward. “A Huron is no tattler; we will go.” 

The maiden drew back in lofty womanly reserve, 
and her dark eye kindled, while the rich blood shot, 
like the passing brightness of the sun, into her very 
temples, at the indignity. 

“I am your prisoner, and at a fitting time shall 
be ready to follow, even to my death. But violence 
is unnecessary,” she coldly said; and immediately 
turning to Hawkeye, added, “Generous hunter! 
from my soul I thank you. Your offer is in vain, 
neither could it be accepted; but still you may 
serve me, even more than in your own noble inten¬ 
tion. Look at that drooping, humbled child! Aban¬ 
don her not until you leave her in the habitation 
of civilized men. I will not say,” wringing the hard 
hand of the scout, “that her father will reward you 
—for such as you are above the rewards of men— 
but he will thank you, and bless you. And, believe 
me, the blessing of a just and aged man has virtue 
in the sight of Heaven. Would to God, I could hear 
one from his lips at this awful moment!” Her voice 
became choked, and, for an instant, she was silent; 
then advancing a step nigher to Duncan, who was 
supporting her unconscious sister, she continued, 
in more subdued tones, but in which feeling and 
the habits of her sex maintained a fearful struggle, 
“I need not tell you to cherish the treasure you will 


The Last of the Mohicans 


467 


possess. You love her, Heyward; that would con¬ 
ceal a thousand faults, though she had them. She 
is kind, gentle, sweet, good, as mortal may be. There 
is not a blemish in mind or person at which the 
proudest of you all would sicken. She is fair— O! 
how surpassingly fair!” laying her own beautiful, 
but less brilliant hand, in melancholy affection on 
the alabaster forehead of Alice, and parting the 
golden hair which clustered about her brows, “and 
yet her soul is pure and spotless as her skin! I 
could say much—more, perhaps, than cooler reason 
would approve; but I will spare you and myself—” 
Her voice became inaudible, and her face was 
bent over the form of her sister. After a long 
and burning kiss, she arose, and with features of 
the hue of death, but without t even a tear in her 
feverish eye, she turned away, and added, to the 
savage, with all her former elevation of manner, 
“Now, sir, if it be your pleasure, I will follow.” 

“Aye, go,” cried Duncan, placing Alice in the 
arms of an Indian girl. “Go, Magua, go. These 
Delawares have their laws, which forbid them to 
detain you; but I—I have no such obligation. Go, 
malignant monster— why do you delay?” 

It would be difficult to describe the expression 
with which Magua listened to this threat to fol¬ 
low. There was at first a fierce and manifest dis¬ 
play of joy, and then it as instantly subdued in a 
look of cunning coldness. 

“The woods are open,” he was content with 
answering. “ ‘The Open Hand’ can come.” 

“Hold,” cried Hawkeye, seizing Duncan by the arm, 
and detaining him by violence. “You know not the 
craft of the imp. He would lead you to an ambush- 
ment and to your death—” 

“Huron,” interrupted Uncas, who, submissive to 


468 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the stern customs of his people, had been an at¬ 
tentive and grave listener to all that passed, “Huron, 
the justice of the Delawares comes from the Manit- 
to. Look at the sun. He is now in the upper 
branches of the hemlock. Your path is short and 
open. When he is seen above the trees, there will 
be men on your trail.” 

“I hear a crow!” exclaimed Magua, with a taunt¬ 
ing laugh. “Go!” he added, shaking his hand at 
the crowd, which had slowly opened to admit his 
passage. “Where are the petticoats of the Dela¬ 
wares? Let them send their arrows and their guns 
to the Wyandots. They shall have venison to eat, 
and corn to hoe. Dogs, rabbits, thieves—I spit on 
you!” 

His parting gibes were listened to in a dead, 
boding silence; and with these biting words in his 
mouth, the triumphant Magua passed unmolested 
into the forest, followed by his passive captive, and 
protected by the inviolable laws of Indian hospital¬ 
ity. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Flue. “Kill the poys and the luggage! ’Tis expressly 
against the law of arms; ’tis as arrant a piece of knavery, 
mark you now, as can be offered in the ’orld.” 

—Shakespeare, King Henry V, IV, vii. 

So long as their enemy and his victim continued 
in sight, the multitude remained motionless, as 
being charmed to the place by some power that 
was friendly to the Huron; but the instant he dis¬ 
appeared, it became tossed and agitated by fierce 
and powerful passion. Uncas maintained his ele¬ 
vated stand, keeping his eyes on the form of Cora, 
until the colors of her dress were blended with the 
foliage of the forest, when he descended, and mov¬ 
ing silently through the throng, he disappeared in 
that lodge from which he had so recently issued. A 
few of the graver and more attentive warriors, who 
caught the gleams of anger that shot from the eyes 
of the young chief in passing, followed him to the 
place he had selected for his meditations; after 
which, Tamenund and Alice were removed, and the 
women and children 1 were ordered to disperse. Dur¬ 
ing the momentous hour that succeeded, the en¬ 
campment resembled a hive of troubled bees, who 
only awaited the appearance and example of their 
leader, to take some distant and momentous flight. 

A young warrior, at length, issued from the lodge 
of Uncas, and moving deliberately, with a sort of 
grave march, towards a dwarf pine that grew in 
the crevices of the rocky terrace, he tore the bark 

'There is inconsistency here. Cooper writes as though 
this were a permanent encampment. Hitherto his Indian 
bands seemed to be war parties in alliance with the French. 
On such expeditions the women and children were not 
taken along and the encampment was not permanent. 

[ 469 ] 



470 


The Last of the Mohicans 


from its body, and then returned whence he came, 
without speaking. He was soon followed by an¬ 
other, who stripped the sapling of its branches, 
leaving it a naked and “blazed” trunk . 2 A third 
colored the posts with stripes of a dark red paint; 
all which indications of a hostile design in the lead¬ 
ers of the nation, were received by the men without 
in a gloomy and ominous silence. Finally, the Mo¬ 
hican himself reappeared, divested of all his attire, 
except his girdle and leggings, and with one half 
of his fine features hid under a cloud of threaten¬ 
ing black. 

Uncas moved with a slow and dignified tread to¬ 
wards the post, which he immediately commenced 
encircling with a measured step, not unlike an 
ancient dance, raising his voice, at the same time, 
in the wild and irregular chant of his war-song. 
The notes were in the extremes of human sounds, 
being sometimes melancholy and exquisitely plain¬ 
tive, even rivalling the melody of birds—and then, 
by sudden and startling transitions, causing the 
auditors to tremble by their depth and energy. The 
words were few, and often repeated, proceeding 
gradually from a sort of invocation, or hymn, to 
the Deity, to an intimation of the warrior’s object, 
and terminating, as they commenced, with an 
acknowledgment of his own dependence on the 
Great Spirit. If it were possible to translate the 
comprehensive and melodious language in which 

“A tree which has been partially or entirely stripped of 
its bark is said in the language of the country to be 
“blazed.” The term is strictly English; for a horse is 
said to be blazed when it has a white mane. [Cooper’s 
Note.] 

For tne usual meaning of “blazed” see the Glossary. 
Cooper does not use it in the ordinary way. 



The Last of the Mohicans 


471 


he spoke, the ode might read something like the 
following : 3 

Manitto! QVflanitto! Manitto! 

Thou are great — thou art good — thou art wise — 
Manitto! Manitto! 

Thou art just. 

In the heavens, in the clouds, Oh! I see 
Many spots — many dark — many red— 

In the heavens, Oh! I see 
Many clouds. 

In the woods, in the air, Oh! I hear 
The whoop, the long yell, and the cry — 

In the woods, Oh ! I hear 
The loud whoop. 

Manitto ! Manitto! Manitto! 

I am weak — thou art strong — I am slow — 

Manitto! Manitto! 

Give me aid. 

At the end of what might be called each verse he 
made a pause, by raising a note louder and longer 
than common, that was peculiarly suited to the 
sentiment just expressed. The first close was sol¬ 
emn, and intended to convey the idea of veneration; 
the second descriptive, bordering on the alarming; 
and the third was the well-known and terrific war- 
whoop, which burst from the lips of the young 
warrior, like a combination of all the frightful 
sounds of battle. The last was like the first, hum¬ 
ble and imploring. Three times did he repeat this 
song, and as often did he encircle the post in his 
dance. 

At the close of the first turn, a grave and highly 
esteemed chief of the Lenape followed his ex- 

3 This song is suggestive of genuine Indian songs in its 
brevity and its use of repetition. 



472 The Last of the Mohicans 

ample, singing words of his own, however, to music 
of a similar character. Warrior after warrior en¬ 
listed in the dance , 4 until all of any renown and au¬ 
thority were numbered in its mazes. The spectacle 
now became wildly terrific; the fierce-looking and 
menacing visages of the chiefs receiving additional 
power from the appalling strains in which they 
mingled their guttural tones. Just then Uncas 
struck his tomahawk deep into the post, and raised 
his voice in a shout, which might be termed his own 
battle-cry. The act announced that he had assumed 
the chief authority in the intended expedition. 

It was a signal that awakened all the slumbering 
passions of a nation. A hundred youths, who had 
hitherto been restrained by the diffidence of their 
years, rushed in a frantic body on the fancied em¬ 
blem of their enemy, and severed it asunder, splinter 
by splinter, until nothing remained of the trunk but 
its roots in the earth. During this moment of 
tumult, the most ruthless deeds of war were per¬ 
formed on the fragments of the tree, with as much 
apparent ferocity as if they were the living vic¬ 
tims of their cruelty. Some were scalped; some re¬ 
ceived the keen and trembling axe; and others suf¬ 
fered by thrusts from the fatal knife. In short the 
manifestations of zeal and fierce delight were so 
great and unequivocal, that the expedition was de¬ 
clared 5 to be a war of the nation. 

The instant Uncas had struck the blow, he moved 
out of the circle, and cast his eyes up to the sun, 
which was just gaining the point when the truce 
with Magua was to end. The fact was soon an¬ 
nounced by a significant gesture, accompanied by a 

4 The chief features of the ritual prior to an expedition of 
war are the war-dance and the striking of the tomahawk 
into the post. 

6 In the first edition '‘unqualifiedly declared.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


473 


corresponding cry; and the whole of the excited 
multitude abandoned their mimic warfare, with 
shrill yells* of pleasure, to prepare for the more 
hazardous experiment of the reality. 

The whole face of the encampment was instantly 
changed. The warriors, who wera already armed 
and painted, became as still as if they were incap¬ 
able of any uncommon burst of emotion. On the 
other hand, the women broke out of the lodges, 
with the songs of joy and those of lamentation so 
strangely mingled that it might have been difficult 
to have said which passion predominated. None, 
however, were idle. Some bore their choicest 
articles, others their young, and some their aged 
and infirm, into the forest, which spread itself like 
a verdant carpet of bright green against the side 
of the mountain. Thither Tamenund also retired, 
with calm composure, after a short and touching 
interview with Uncas; from whom the sage separ¬ 
ated with the reluctance that a parent would quit a 
long lost, and just recovered, child. In the mean¬ 
time Duncan saw Alice to a place of safety, and 
then sought the scout, with features that denoted 
how eagerly he also panted for the approaching 
contest. 

But Hawkeye was too much accustomed to the 
war-song and the enlistments of the natives, to 
betray any interest in the passing scene. He merely 
cast an occasional look at the number and quality 
of the warriors, who, from time to time, signified 
their readiness to accompany Uncas to the field. 
In this particular he was soon satisfied; for, as had 
been already seen, the power of the young chief 
quickly embraced every fighting man in the nation. 
After this material point was so satisfactorily de- 

-In the first edition “shrill and loud yells of pleasure.” 



474 


The Last of the Mohicans 


cided, he despatched an Indian boy, in quest of “Kill- 
deer” and the rifle of Uncas, to the place, in the 
margin of the forest, where they had deposited the 
weapons, on approaching the camp of the Delawares 
—a measure of double policy, inasmuch as it pro¬ 
tected the arms from their own fate, if detained 
as prisoners, and gave them the advantage of ap¬ 
pearing among the strangers rather as sufferers, 
than as men provided with the means of defense and 
subsistence. In selecting another to perform the 
office of reclaiming his highly prized rifle, the scout 
had lost sight of none of his habitual caution. He 
knew that Magua had not come unattended, and he 
also knew that Huron spies watched the movements 
of their new enemies, along the whole boundary of 
the woods. It would, therefore, have been fatal to 
himself to have attempted the experiment; a war¬ 
rior would have fared no better: but the danger of a 
boy would not be likely to commence until after his 
object was discovered. When Heyward joined him, 
the scout was coolly awaiting the result of this 
experiment. 

The boy, who had been well instructed, and was 
sufficiently crafty, proceeded, with a bosom that 
was swelling with the pride of such confidence, and 
all the hopes of young ambition, carelessly across 
the clearing to the wood, which he entered at a 
point at some little distance from the place where 
the guns were secreted. The instant, however, he 
was concealed by the foliage of the bushes, his 
dusky form was to be seen gliding, like that of a 
serpent, towards the desired treasure. He was suc¬ 
cessful; and in another moment he appeared flying 
across the narrow opening that skirted the base of 
the terrace on which the village stood, with the 
velocity of an arrow, and bearing a prize in each 


The Last of the Mohicans 


475 


hand . 7 He had actually gained the crags, and was 
leaping up their sides with incredible activity, when 
a shot from the woods showed how accurate had 
been the judgment of the scout. The boy answered 
it with a feeble but contemptuous shout; and im¬ 
mediately a second bullet was sent after him from 
another part of the cover. At the next instant he 
appeared on the level above, elevating his guns 
in triumph, while he moved with the air of a 
conqueror towards the renowned hunter who had 
honored him by so glorious a commission. 

Notwithstanding the lively interest Hawkeye had 
taken in the fate of his messenger, he received “Kill- 
deer” with a satisfaction that, momentarily, drove all 
other recollections from his mind. After examining 
the piece with an intelligent eye, and opening and 
shutting the pan some ten or fifteen times, and trying 
sundry other equally important experiments on the 
lock, he turned to the boy, and demanded with great 
manifestations of kindness, if he was hurt. The 
urchin looked proudly up in his face, but made no 
reply. 

“Ah! I see, lad, the knaves have barked your 
arm!” added the scout, taking up the limb of the 
patient sufferer, across which a deep flesh wound 
had been made by one of the bullets. “But a little 
bruised alder 8 will act like a charm. In the mean¬ 
time I will wrap it in a badge of wampum! You 
have commenced the business of a warrior early, 
my brave boy, and are likely to bear a plenty of 
honorable scars to your grave. I know many young 
men that have taken scalps who cannot show such 

HiiTthe first edition “bearing one of lfls prizes in each 
hand ” 

"The alder is a small tree of the birch family. To the 
scout it has curative qualities. 



. 476 


The Last of the Mohicans 


a mark as this. Go!” having bound up the arm, “you 
will be a chief!” 

The lad departed, prouder of his flowing blood 
than the vainest courtier could be of his blushing 
ribbon; and stalked among the fellows of his age, 
an object of general admiration and envy. 

But in a moment of so many serious and important 
duties, this single act of juvenile fortitude did not 
attract the general notice and commendation it 
would have received under milder auspices. It had, 
however, served to apprise the Delawares of the 
position and the intentions of their enemies. Ac¬ 
cordingly, a party of adventurers, better suited to 
the task than the weak, though spirited boy, were 
ordered to dislodge the skulkers. The duty was 
soon performed, for most of the Hurons retired 
of themselves, when they found that they had been 
discovered. The Delawares followed to a sufficient 
distance from their own encampment, and then 
halted for orders, apprehensive of being led into 
an ambush. As both parties secreted themselves, 
the woods were again as still and quiet, as a mild 
summer morning and deep solitude could render 
them. 

The calm but still impatient Uncas now collected 
his chiefs, and divided his power. He presented 
Hawkeye, as a warrior, often tried, and always 
found deserving of confidence. When he found his 
friend met with a favorable reception he bestowed 
on him the command of twenty men like himself, 
active, skilful, and resolute. He gave the Delawares 
to understand the rank of Heyward among the 
troops of the Yengeese, and then tendered to him 
a trust of equal authority. But Duncan declined the 
charge, professing his readiness to serve as a vol¬ 
unteer by the side of the scout. After this disposi¬ 
tion, the young Mohican appointed various native 


The Last of the Mohicans 


477 


chiefs to fill the different situations of responsi¬ 
bility and the time pressing, he gave forth the word 
to march. He was cheerfully, but silently obeyed 
by more than two hundred men. 

Their entrance into the forest was perfectly un¬ 
molested; nor did they encounter any living objects 
that could either give the alarm or furnish the 
intelligence they needed, until they came upon the 
lairs of their own scouts. Here a halt was ordered , 9 
and the chiefs were assembled to hold a “whisper¬ 
ing council.” At this meeting divers plans of oper¬ 
ation were suggested, though none of a character 
to meet the wishes of their ardent leader. Had 
Uncas followed the promptings of his own inclina¬ 
tions, he would have led his followers to the charge 
without a moment’s delay, and put the conflict to 
the hazard of an instant issue; but such a course 
would have been in opposition to all the received 
practices and opinions of his countrymen. He was, 
therefore, fain to adopt a caution that in the pres¬ 
ent temper of his mind he execrated, and to listen 
to advice at which his fiery spirit chafed, under the 
vivid recollection of Cora’s danger and Magua’s 
insolence. 

After an unsatisfactory conference of many 
minutes, a solitary individual was seen advancing 
from the side of the enemy, with such apparent 
haste, as to induce the belief he might be a mes¬ 
senger charged with pacific overtures. When with¬ 
in a hundred yards, however, of the cover behind 
which the Delaware council had assembled, the 
stranger hesitated, appeared uncertain what course 
to take, and finally halted. All eyes were now 
turned on Uncas, as if seeking directions how to 
proceed. 

“Hawkeye,” said the young chief, in a low voice, 

*In the first edition “A halt was then ordered.” 



478 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“he must never speak to the Hurons again.” 

“His time has come,” said the laconic scout, 
thrusting the long barrel of his rifle through the 
leaves, and taking his deliberate and fatal aim. But, 
instead of pulling the trigger he lowered the muzzle 
again, and indulged himself in a fit of his peculiar 
mirth. “I took the imp for a Mingo, as I’m a miser¬ 
able sinner!” he said. “But when my eye ranged 
along his ribs for a place to get the bullet in— 
would you think it, Uncas—I saw the musicianer’s 
blower; and so, after all, it is the man they call 
Gamut, whose death can profit no one, and whose 
life, if his tongue can do anything but sing, may be 
made serviceable to our own ends. If sounds have 
not lost their virtue, I’ll soon have a discourse with 
the honest fellow, and that in a voice he’ll find more 
agreeable than the speech of ‘Killdeer.’ ” 

So saying, Hawkeye laid aside his rifle; and 
crawling through the bushes until within hearing 
of David, he attempted to repeat the musical effort, 
which had conducted himself, with so much safety 
and eclat, through the Huron encampment. The 
exquisite organs of Gamut could not readily be 
deceived (and, to say the truth, it would have been 
difficult for any other than Hawkeye to pro¬ 
duce a similar noise), and consequently, having once 
before heard the sounds, he now knew whence they 
proceeded. The poor fellow appeared relieved from 
a state of great embarrassment; for pursuing the 
direction of the voice—a task that to him was not 
less arduous than it would have been to have gone up 
in the face of a battery—he soon discovered the hid¬ 
den songster. 

“I wonder what the Hurons will think of that!” 
said the scout, laughing, as he took his companion 


The Last of the Mohicans 


479 


by the arm, and urged him toward the rear. “If the 
knaves lie within ear-shot, they will say there are 
two non-compossers ' 0 instead of one! But here we 
are safe!” he added, pointing to Uncas and his asso¬ 
ciates. “Now give us the history of the Mingo in¬ 
ventions in natural English, and without any ups 
and downs 11 of voice.” 

David gazed about him, at the fierce and wild¬ 
looking chiefs, in mute wonder; but assured by the 
presence of faces that he knew, he soon rallied his 
faculties so far as to make an intelligent reply. 

“The heathen are abroad in goodly numbers,” said 
David, “and, I fear, with evil intent. There has 
been much howling and ungodly revelry, together 
with such sounds as it is profanity to utter, in 
their habitations within the past hour; so much 
so, in truth, that I have fled to the Delawares in 
search of peace.” 

“Your ears might not have profited much by the 
exchange, had you been quicker of foot,” returned 
the scout a little dryly. “But let that be as it may. 
Where are the Hurons?” 

“They lie hid in the forest, between this spot 
and their village, in such force that prudence would 
teach you instantly to return.” 

Uncas cast a glance along the range of trees 
which concealed his own band and mentioned the 
name of— 

“Magua?” 

“Is among them. He brought in the maiden that 
had sojourned with the Delawares, and leaving her 
in the cave, has put himself, like a raging wolf, 
at the head of his savages. I know not what has 
troubled his spirit so greatly!” 

I0 In the first edition ‘‘non-compossurs.” 

“In the first edition “ups-and-downs.” 



480 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“He has left her, you say, in the cave!” inter¬ 
rupted Heyward. “’Tis well that we know its sit¬ 
uation. May not something be done for instant 
relief?” 

Uncas looked earnestly at the scout, before he 
asked— 

“What says Hawkeye?” 

“Give me my twenty rifles and I will turn to the 
right, along the stream, and passing by the huts of 
the beaver, will join the Sagamore and the Colonel. 
You shall then hear the whoop from that quarter; 
with this wind one may easily send it a mile. Then, 
Uncas, do you drive in their front; when they 
come within range of our pieces, we will give them 
a blow, that, I pledge the good name of an old 
frontiersman, shall make their line bend like an 
ashen bow. After which, we will carry their vil¬ 
lage, and take the woman from the cave; when the 
affair may be finished with the tribe, according to 
a white man’s battle, by a blow and a victory; or in 
the Indian fashion, with dodge and cover. There 
may be no great learning, Major, in this plan, but 
with courage and patience it can all be done.” 

“I like it much,” cried Duncan, who saw that the 
release of Cora was the primary object in the mind 
of the scout. “I like it much. Let it then be instant¬ 
ly attempted.” 

After a short conference, the plan was matured, 
and rendered more intelligible to the several par¬ 
ties; the different signals were appointed, and the 
chiefs separated, each to his allotted station. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


“Put plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, 
Till the great king, without a ransom paid, 

To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.”— 

—Pope’s Iliad, I, 122. 


During the time Uncas was making this disposi¬ 
tion of his forces, the woods were as still, and, with 
the exception of those who had met in council, 
apparently, as much untenanted, as when they came 
fresh from the hands of their Almighty Creator. 
The eye could range, in every direction, through 
the long and shadowed vistas of the trees; but no¬ 
where was any object to be seen that did not 
properly belong to the peaceful and slumbering 
scenery. Here and there a bird was heard flutter¬ 
ing among the branches of the beeches, and occa¬ 
sionally a squirrel dropped a nut, drawing the 
startled looks of the party, for a moment, to the 
place; but the instant the casual interruption ceased, 
the passing air was heard murmuring above their 
heads, along that verdant and undulating sur¬ 
face of the forest, which spread itself unbroken, 
unless by stream or lake, over such a vast region of 
country. Across the tract of wilderness, which lay 
between the Delawares and the village of their 
enemies, it seemed as if the foot of man had never 
trodden, so breathing and deep was the silence in 
which it lay. But Hawkeye, whose duty now led 
him foremost in the adventure, knew the character 
of those with whom he was about to contend, too 
well to trust the treacherous quiet. 

When he saw his little band again collected, the 
scout threw “Killdeer ,, into the hollow of his arm, 
and making a silent signal that he would be fol¬ 
lowed, he led them many rods towards the rear, into 
[481] 


482 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the bed of a little brook, which they had crossed 
in advancing. Here he halted, and after waiting 
for the whole of his grave and attentive warriors 
to close about him, he spoke in Delaware, demand¬ 
ing— 

“Do any of my young men know whither this run 
will lead us?” 

A Delaware stretched forth a hand, with the two 
fingers separated, and indicating the manner in 
which they were joined at the root, he answered— 

“Before the sun could go his own length, the 
little water will be in the big.” Then he added, 
pointing in the direction of the place he mentioned, 
“The two make enough for the beavers.” 

“I thought as much,” returned the scout, glancing 
his eye upwards at the opening in the tree-tops, 
“from the course it takes, and the bearings of the 
mountains. Men, we will keep within the cover 
of its banks till we scent the Hurons.” 

His companions gave the usual brief exclamation 
of assent, but perceiving that their leader was about 
to lead the way in person, one or two made signs that 
all was not as it should be. Hawkeye, who compre¬ 
hended their meaning glances, turned, and perceived 
that his party had been followed thus far by the 
singing-master. 

“Do you know, friend,” asked the scout gravely, 
and perhaps with a little of the pride of conscious 
deserving in his manner, “that this is a band of 
rangers chosen for the most desperate service, and 
put under the command of one who, though an¬ 
other might say it with a better face, will not be 
apt to leave them idle. It may not be five, it can¬ 
not be thirty minutes before we tread on the body 
of a Huron, living or dead.” 

“Though not admonished of your intentions in 
words,” returned David, whose face was a little 


The Last of the Mohicans 


483 


flushed, and whose ordinarily quiet and unmeaning 
eyes glimmered with an expression of unusual 
fire, “your men have reminded me of the children of 
Jacob going out to battle against the Shechemites, 
for wickedly aspiring to wedlock with a woman of 
a race that was favored of the Lord. 1 Now, I have 
journeyed far, and sojourned much in good and evil 
with the maiden ye seek; and though not a man of 
war, with my loins girded and my sword sharp¬ 
ened, yet would I gladly strike a blow in her behalf.” 

The scout hesitated, as if weighing the chances 
of such a strange enlistment in his mind before 
he answered,— 

“You know not the use of any we’pon. You carry 
no rifle; and believe me, what the Mingoes take 
they will freely give again.” 

“Though not a vaunting and bloodily disposed 
Goliath,” 2 returned David, drawing a sling from 
beneath his parti-colored and uncouth attire, “I have 
not forgotten the example of the Jewish boy. With 
this ancient instrument of war have I practised much 
in my youth, and peradventure the skill has not 
entirely departed from me.” 

“Aye!” said Hawkeye, considering the deer-skin 
thong and apron, with a cold and discouraging eye. 
“The thing might do its work among arrows, or even 
knives; but these Mengwe have been furnished by 
the Frenchers with a good grooved barrel a man. 
However, it seems to be your gift to go unharmed 
amid a fire; and as you have hitherto been favored— 
Major, you have left your rifle at a cock. A single 
shot before the time, would be just twenty scalps 
lost to no purpose.—Singer, you can follow. We may 
find use for you in the shouting.” 


\See Genesis 34. 
2 See 7 Samuel 17 



484 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“I thank you, friend,” returned David, supplying 
himself, like his royal namesake, from among the 
pebbles of the brook. “Though not given to the de¬ 
sire to kill, had you sent me away, my spirit would 
have been troubled.” 

“Remember,” added the scout, tapping his own 
head significantly on that spot where Gamut was 
yet sore, “we come to fight, and not to musickate. 
Until the general whoop is given, nothing speaks 
but the rifle.” 

David nodded, as much as to signify his acqui¬ 
escence with the terms, and then Hawkeye casting 
another observant glance over his followers, made 
the signal to proceed. 

Their route lay, for the distance of a mile, along 
the bed of the water-course. Though protected 
from any great danger of observation by the precip¬ 
itous banks, and the thick shrubbery which skirted 
the stream, for the whole distance, no precaution, 
known to an Indian attack, was neglected. A war¬ 
rior rather crawled than walked on each flank, so as 
to catch occasional glimpses into the forest; and 
every few minutes the band came to a halt, and 
listened for hostile sounds, with an acuteness of 
organs, that would be scarcely conceivable to a man 
in a less natural state. Their march was, however, 
unmolested, and they reached the point where the 
lesser stream was lost in the greater, without the 
smallest evidence that their progress had been noted. 
Here the scout again halted, to consult the signs of 
the forest. 

“We are likely to have a good day for a fight,” 
he said, in English, addressing Heyward, and glanc¬ 
ing his eye upwards at the clouds, which began to 
move in broad sheets across the firmament. “A 
bright sun and a glittering barrel are no friends 


The Last of the Mohicans 


485 


to true sight. Everything is favorable; they have 
the wind, which will bring down their noises 
and their smoke too, no little matter in itself; 
whereas, with us it will be first a shot, and then 
a clear view. But here is an end of our cover. The 
beavers have the range of this stream for hundreds 
of years, and what atween their food and their dams, 
there is, as you see, many a girdled stub, but few 
living trees.” 

Hawkeye had, in truth, in these few words, given 
no bad description of the prospect that now lay in 
their front. The brook was irregular in its width, 
sometimes shooting through narrow fissures in the 
rocks, and at others spreading over acres of bottom 
land, forming little areas that might be termed ponds. 
Everywhere along its banks were the moldering 
relics of dead trees, in all the stages of decay, from 
those that groaned on their tottering trunks to 
such as had recently been robbed of those rugged 
coats that so mysteriously contain their principle of 
life. A few long, low, and moss-covered piles were 
scattered among them like the memorials of a former 
and long-departed generation. 

All these minute particulars were noted by the 
scout, with a gravity and interest that they probably 
had never before attracted. He knew that the Huron 
encampment lay a short half mile up the brook; and 
with the characteristic anxiety of one who dreaded 
a hidden danger, he was greatly troubled at not 
finding the smallest trace of the presence of his 
enemy. Once or twice he felt induced to give the 
order for a rush, and to attempt the village by sur¬ 
prise; but his experience quickly admonished him 
of the danger of so useless an experiment. Then he 
listened intently, and with painful uncertainty, for 
the sounds of hostility in the quarter where Uncas 


486 


The Last of the Mohicans 


was left; but nothing was audible except the sigh¬ 
ing of the wind, that began to sweep over the bosom 
of the forest in gusts which threatened a tempest. 
At length, yielding rather to his unusual impatience 
than taking counsel from his knowledge, he deter¬ 
mined to bring matters to an issue, by unmasking 
his force, and proceeding cautiously, but steadily, 
up the stream. 

The scout had stood, while making his observa¬ 
tions, sheltered by a brake, and his companions still 
lay in the bed of the ravine, through which the 
smaller stream debouched; but on hearing his low, 
though intelligible signal the whole party stole up 
the bank, like so many dark specters, and silently 
arranged themselves around him. Pointing in the 
direction he wished to proceed, Hawkeye advanced, 
the band breaking off in single files, and following so 
accurately in his footsteps, as to leave it, if we 
except Heyward and David, the trail of but a single 
man. 

The party was, however, scarcely uncovered be¬ 
fore a volley from rifles was heard in their rear; 
and a Delaware leaping high into the air, like a 
wounded deer, fell at his whole length, perfectly 
dead. 

“Ah, I feared some deviltry like this!” exclaimed 
the scout, in English; adding with the quickness of 
thought, in his adopted tongue, “To cover, men, 
and charge!” 

The band dispersed at the word, and before Hey¬ 
ward had well recovered from his surprise he found 
himself standing alone with David. Luckily the 
Hurons had already fallen back, and he was safe 
from their fire. But this state of things was evi¬ 
dently to be of short continuance; for the scout 
set the example of pressing on their retreat, by dis- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


487 


charging his rifle, and darting from tree to tree as 
his enemy slowly yielded ground. 

It would seem that the assault had been made by 
a very small party of the Hurons, which, however, 
continued to increase in numbers, as it retired on 
its friends, until the return fire was very nearly, 
if not quite, equal to that maintained by the ad¬ 
vancing Delawares. Heyward threw himself among 
the combatants, and imitating the necessary caution 
of his companions, he supported quick discharges 
with his own rifle. The contest now grew warm and 
stationary. Few were injured, as both parties kept 
their bodies as much protected as possible by the 
trees; never, indeed, exposing any part of their 
persons, except in the act of taking aim. But 
the chances were gradually growing unfavorable to 
Hawkeye and his band. The quick-sighted scout 
perceived all his danger, without knowing how to 
remedy it. He saw it was more dangerous to re¬ 
treat than to maintain his ground; while he found 
his enemy throwing out men on his flank, which 
rendered the task of keeping themselves covered 
so very difficult to the Delawares as nearly to silence 
their fire. At this embarrassing moment, when they 
began to think the whole of the hostile tribe was 
gradually encircling them, to their destruction, they 
heard the yell of combatants, and the rattling of 
arms, echoing under the arches of the wood, at the 
place where Uncas was posted; a bottom which, in 
a manner, lay beneath the ground on which Hawk- 
eye and his party were contending. 

The effects of this attack were instantaneous, and 
to the scout and his friends greatly relieving. It 
would seem, that while his own surprise had been 
anticipated, and had consequently failed, the enemy 
in their turn having been deceived in its object and 


488 


The Last of the Mohicans 


in his numbers, had left too small a force to resist 
the impetuous onset of the young Mohican. This 
fact was doubly apparent, by the rapid manner in 
which the battle in the forest rolled upward towards 
the village, and by an instant falling off in the num¬ 
ber of their assailants, who rushed to assist in main¬ 
taining their front, and, as it now proved to be, their 
principal point of defense. 

Animating his followers by his voice, and his own 
example, Hawkeye then gave the word to bear down 
upon their foes. 

The charge, in that rude species of warfare, con¬ 
sisted merely in pushing from cover to cover, nigher 
to the enemy; and in this manoeuvre he was in¬ 
stantly and successfully obeyed. The Hurons were 
compelled to withdraw, and the scene of the con¬ 
test rapidly changed from the more open ground 
on which it had commenced, to a spot where the 
assault found a thicket to rest upon. Here the 
struggle was protracted, arduous, and seemingly of 
doubtful issue; the Delawares, though none of them 
fell, beginning to bleed freely, in consequence of the 
disadvantage at which they were held. 

In this crisis, Hawkeye found means to get behind 
the same tree as that which served for a cover to 
Heyward; most of his own combatants being within 
call, a little on his right, where they maintained 
rapid, though fruitless, discharges on their sheltered 
enemies. 

“You are a young man, Major,” said the scout, 
dropping the butt of “Killdeer” to the earth, and 
leaning on the barrel, a little fatigued with his 
previous industry, “and it may be your gift to lead 
armies at some future day ag’in these imps the 
Mingoes. You may here see the philosophy of an 
Indian fight. It consists mainly in a ready hand, a 
quick eye, and a good cover. Now, if you had a com- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


489 


pany of the Royal Americans here, in what manner 
would you set them to work in this business?” 

“The bayonet would make a road.” 

“Aye, there is white reason in what you say; but a 
man must ask himself, in this wilderness, how many 
lives he can spare. No—horse,” 3 continued the scout, 
shaking his head, like one who mused, “horse, I am 
ashamed to say, must, sooner or later, decide 
these scrimmages. The brutes are better than men, 
and to horse must we come at last. Put a shodden 
hoof on the moccasin of a red-skin; and if his rifle 
be once emptied, he will never stop to load it again.” 

“This is a subject that might better be discussed 
at another time,” returned Heyward. “Shall we 
charge?” 

“I see no contradiction to the gifts of any man, 
in passing his breathing spells in useful reflections,” 
the scout mildly replied. “As to a rush, I little 
relish such a measure, for a scalp or two must be 
thrown away in the attempt. And yet,” he added, 
bending his head aside, to catch the sounds of the 
distant combat, “if we are to be of use to Uncas, 
these knaves in our front must be now gotten rid 
of!” 

Then turning, with a prompt and decided air, 

3 The American forest admits of the passage of horse, 
there being little underbrush, and few tangled brakes. The 
plan of Hawkeye is the one which has always proved the 
most successful in the battle between the whites and the 
Indians. Wayne, in his celebrated campaign on the Miami, 
received the fire of his enemies in line; and then causing 
his dragoons to wheel round his flanks, the Indians were 
driven from their covers before they had time to load. 
One of the most conspicuous of the chiefs who fought* in 
the battle of Miami assured the writer, that the red-men 
could not fight the warriors with ‘ long knives and leather- 
stockings” ; meaning the dragoons with their sabers and 
boots. [Cooper’s Note.] 



490 


The Last of the Mohicans 


from Duncan, he called aloud to his Indians, in their 
own language. His words were answered by a shout, 
and at a given signal, each warrior made a swift 
movement around his particular tree. The sight 
of so many dark bodies, glancing before their eyes 
at the same instant, drew a hasty, and, consequent¬ 
ly, an ineffectual fire from the Hurons. Then without 
stopping to breathe, the Delawares leaped, in long 
bounds, towards the woods, like so many panthers 
springing upon their prey. Hawkeye was in front 
brandishing his terrible rifle, and animating his fol¬ 
lowers by his example. A few of the older and more 
cunning Hurons, who had not been deceived by the 
artifice which had been practised to draw their fire, 
now made a close and deadly discharge of their pieces, 
and justified the apprehension of the scout, by fell¬ 
ing three of his foremost warriors. But the shock 
was insufficient to repel the impetus of the charge. 
The Delawares broke into the cover with the fe¬ 
rocity of their natures, and swept away every trace 
of resistance by the fury of the onset. 

The combat endured only for an instant hand to 
hand, and then the assailed yielded ground rapidly, 
until they reached the opposite margin of the 
thicket, where they clung to their cover, with a sort 
of obstinacy that is so often witnessed in hunted 
brutes. At this critical moment, when the success 
of the struggle was again becoming doubtful, the 
crack of a rifle was heard behind the Hurons, and a 
bullet came whizzing from among some beaver lodges, 
which were situated in the clearing, in their rear, 
and was followed by the fierce and appalling yell 
of the war-whoop. 

“There speaks the Sagamore!” shouted Hawkeye, 
answering the cry with his own stentorian voice. “We 
have them now in face and back!” 


The Last of the Mohicans 


491 


The effect on the Hurons was instantaneous. Dis¬ 
couraged by an assault from a quarter that left them 
no opportunity for cover, their warriors uttered a 
common yell of disappointment, and breaking off in 
a body, they spread themselves across the opening, 
heedless of every consideration but flight. Many 
fell, in making the experiment, under the bullets 
and the blows of the pursuing Delawares. 

We shall not pause to detail the meeting between 
the scout and Chingachgook, or the more touching 
interview that Duncan held with Munro. A few 
brief and hurried words served to explain the state 
of things to both parties; and then Hawkeye, point¬ 
ing out the Sagamore to his band, resigned the 
chief authority into the hands of the Mohican chief. 
Chingachgook assumed the station to which his 
birth and experience gave him so distinguished a 
claim, with the grave dignity that always gives force 
to the mandate of a native warrior. Following 
the footsteps of the scout, he led the party back 
through the thicket, his men scalping the fallen 
Hurons, and secreting the bodies of their own dead 
as they proceeded, until they gained a point where 
the former was content to make a halt. 

The warriors, who had breathed themselves freely 4 
in the preceding struggle, were now posted on a bit 
of level ground, sprinkled with trees in sufficient 
numbers to conceal them. The land fell away 
rather precipitately in front, and beneath their eyes 
stretched, for several miles, a narrow, dark, and 
wooded vale. It was through this dense and dark 
forest that Uncas was still contending with the 
main body of the Hurons. 

The Mohican and his friends advanced to the brow 
of the hill, and listened with practised ears to the 


4 In the first edition, “had exhausted themselves.” 



492 


The Last of the Mohicans 


sounds of the combat. A few birds hovered over the 
leafy bosom of the valley, as if frightened from their 
secluded nests, and here and there a light vapory 
cloud, which seemed already blending with the at¬ 
mosphere, arose above the trees, and indicated some 
spot where the struggle had been more fierce and 
stationary than usual. 

“The fight is coming up the ascent,” said Duncan, 
pointing in the direction of a new explosion of fire¬ 
arms. “We are too much in the center of their line 
to be effective.” 

“They will incline into the hollow, where the cover 
is thicker,” said the scout, “and that will leave us 
well on their flank. Go, Sagamore; you will hardly 
be in time to give the whoop, and lead on the young 
men. I will fight this scrimmage with warriors oi 
my own color! You know me, Mohican; not a Huron 
of them all shall cross the swell, into your rear, 
without the notice of ‘Killdeer.’ ” 

The Indian chief paused another moment to con¬ 
sider the signs of the contest, which was now rolling 
rapidly up the ascent, a certain evidence that the 
Delawares triumphed; nor did he actually quit the 
place, until admonished of the proximity of his 
friends, as well as enemies, by the bullets of the 
former, which began to patter among the dried 
leaves on the ground, like the bits of falling hail 
which precede the bursting of the tempest. Hawk- 
eye and his three companions withdrew a few pace3 
to a sheltered spot, and awaited the issue with that 
sort of calmness that nothing but great practice 
could impart, in such a scene. 

It was not long before the reports of the rifles 
began to lose the echoes of the woods, and to sound 
like weapons discharged in the open air. Then a 
warrior appeared, here and there, driven to the skirts 
of the forest, and rallying as he entered the clear- 


The Last of the Mohicans 


493 


fng, as at the place where the final stand was to be 
made. These were soon joined by others, until a 
long line of swarthy figures was to be seen clinging 
to the cover, with the obstinacy of desperation. Hey¬ 
ward began to grow impatient, and turned his eyes 
anxiously in the direction of Chingachgook. The 
chief was seated on a rock, with nothing visible but 
his calm visage, considering the spectacle with an 
eye as deliberate as if he were posted there merely 
to view the struggle. 

“The time is come for the Delawares to strike!” 
said Duncan. 

“Not so, not so,” returned the scout. “When he 
scents his friends, he will let them know that he is 
here. See, see; the knaves are getting in that clump 
of pines, like bees settling after their flight. By the 
Lord, a squaw might put a bullet into the center 
of such a knot of dark skins!” 

At that instant the whoop was given, and a dozen 
Hurons fell by a discharge from Chingachgook and 
his band. The shout that followed was answered 
by a single war-cry from the forest, and a yell 
passed through the air that sounded as if a thous¬ 
and throats were united in a common effort. The 
Hurons staggered, deserting the center of their line, 
and Uncas issued from the forest through the open¬ 
ing they left, at the head of a hundred warriors. 

Waving his hands right and left, the young chief 
pointed out the enemy to his followers, who sep¬ 
arated 5 in pursuit. The war now divided, both wings 
of the broken Hurons seeking protection in the 
woods again, hotly pressed by the victorious war¬ 
riors of the Lenape. A minute might have passed, 
but the sounds were already receding in different 
directions, and gradually losing their distinctness 

a In the first edition, “who instantly separated.” 



494 


The Last of the Mohicans 


beneath the echoing arches of the woods. One little 
knot of Hurons, however, had disdained to seek a 
cover, and were retiring, like lions at bay, slowly 
and sullenly up the acclivity which Chingachgook 
and his band had just deserted, to mingle more 
closely in the fray. Magua was conspicuous in this 
party, both by his fierce and savage mien, and by 
the air of haughty authority he yet maintained. 

In his eagerness to expedite the pursuit, Uncas 
had left himself nearly alone; but the moment his 
eye caught the figure of Le Subtil, every other con¬ 
sideration was forgotten. Raising his cry of battle, 
which recalled some six or seven warriors, and'reck¬ 
less of the disparity of their numbers, he rushed 
upon his enemy. Le Renard, who watched the move¬ 
ment, paused to receive him with secret joy. But 
at the moment when he thought the rashness of his 
impetuous young assailant had left him at his mercy, 
another shout was given, and La Longue Carabine 
was seen rushing to the rescue, attended by all his 
white associates. The Huron instantly turned, and 
commenced a rapid retreat up the ascent. 

There was no time for greetings or congratula¬ 
tions; for Uncas, though unconscious of the pres¬ 
ence of his friends, continued the pursuit with the 
velocity of the wind. In vain Hawkeye called to 
him to respect the covers. The young Mohican 
braved the dangerous fire of his enemies, and soon 
compelled them to a flight as swift as his own head¬ 
long speed. It was fortunate that the race was of 
short continuance, and that the white men were much 
favored both in the distance and the ground, by 
their position, or the Delaware would soon have 
outstripped all his companions, and fallen a victim 
to his own temerity. But ere such a calamity 
could happen, the pursuers and pursued entered the 


The Last of the Mohicans 


495 


Wyandot village, within striking distance of each 
other. 

Excited by the presence of their dwellings, and 
tired of the chase, the Hurons now made a stand, 
and fought around their council lodge with the 
desperation of despair. The onset and the issue 
were like the passage and destruction of a whirl¬ 
wind. The tomahawk of Uncas, the blows of Hawk- 
eye, and even the still nervous arm of Munro, were 
all busy for that passing moment, and the ground 
was quickly strewed with their enemies. Still 
Magua, though daring and much exposed, escaped 
from every effort against his life, with that sort 
of fabled protection, that was made to overlook 
the fortunes of favored heroes in the legends of 
ancient poetry. Raising a yell that spoke volumes 
of anger and disappointment, the subtle chief, when 
he saw his comrades fallen, darted away from the 
place, attended by his two only surviving friends, 
leaving the Delawares engaged in stripping the 
dead of the bloody trophies of their victory. 

But Uncas, who had vainly sought him in the 
melee , 9 bounded forward in pursuit; Hawkeye, Hey¬ 
ward, and David, still pressing on his footsteps. 
The utmost that the scout could effect, was to keep 
the muzzle of his rifle a little in advance of his 
friend, to whom, however, it answered every pur¬ 
pose of a charmed shield. Once Magua appeared 
disposed to make another and a final effort to 
revenge his losses; but, abandoning his intention 
as soon as demonstrated, he leaped into a thicket 
of bushes, through which he was followed by his 
enemies, and suddenly entered the mouth of the 
cave already known to the reader. Hawkeye, who 
had only forborne to fire in tenderness to Uncas, 

6 In the first edition, ‘‘mel£.” 



496 


The Last of the Mohicans 


raised a shout of success, and proclaimed aloud, 
that now they were certain of their game. The pur¬ 
suers dashed into the long and narrow entrance, 
in time to catch a glimpse of the retreating forms 
of the Hurons. Their passage through the natural 
galleries and subterraneous apartments of the 
cavern was preceded by the shrieks and cries of 
hundreds of women and children. The place, seen 
by its dim and uncertain light, appeared like the 
shades of the infernal regions, across which un¬ 
happy ghosts and savage demons were flitting in 
multitudes. 

Still Uncas kept his eye on Magua, as if life to 
him possessed but a single object. Heyward and 
the scout still pressed on his rear, actuated, though 
possibly in a less degree, by a common feeling. But 
their way was becoming intricate, in those dark and 
gloomy passages, and the glimpses of the retiring 
warriors less distinct and frequent; and for a 
moment the trace was believed to be lost, when a 
white robe was seen fluttering in the farther extrem¬ 
ity of a passage that seemed to lead up the moun¬ 
tain. 

“ ’Tis Cora!” exclaimed Heyward, in a voice in 
which horror and delight were wildly mingled. 

“Cora! Cora!’’ echoed Uncas, bending forward like 
a deer. 

“ ’Tis the maiden!” shouted the scout. “Courage, 
lady. We come—we come.” 

The chase was renewed with a diligence rendered 
tenfold encouraging by this glimpse of the captive. 
But the way was now rugged, broken, and, in spots, 
nearly impassable. Uncas abandoned his rifle, and 
leaped forward with headlong precipitation. Hey¬ 
ward rashly imitated his example, though both were, 
a moment afterwards, admonished of its madness, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


497 


by hearing the bellowing of a piece that the Hurons 
found time to discharge down the passage in the 
rocks, the bullet from which even gave the young 
Mohican a slight wound. 

“We must close!” said the scout, passing his 
friends by a desperate leap. “The knaves will pick 
us all off at this distance; and, see! they hold the 
maiden so as to shield themselves!” 

Though his words were unheeded, or rather un¬ 
heard, his example was followed by his companions 
who, by incredible exertions got near enough to 
the fugitives to perceive that Cora was borne along 
between the two warriors, while Magua prescribed 
the direction and manner of their flight. At this 
moment, the forms of all four were strongly drawn 
against an opening in the sky, and then they dis¬ 
appeared. Nearly frantic with disappointment, 
Uncas and Heyward increased efforts that already 
seemed superhuman, and they issued from the cav¬ 
ern on the side of the mountain, in time to note 
the route of the pursued. The course lay up the 
ascent, and still continued hazardous and laborious. 

Encumbered by his rifle, and, perhaps, not sus¬ 
tained by so deep an interest in the captive as his 
companions, the scout suffered the latter to precede 
him a little; Uncas, in his turn, taking the lead of 
Heyward. In this manner, rocks, precipices, and 
difficulties, were surmounted, in an incredibly short 
space, that at another time, and under other cir¬ 
cumstances, would have been deemed almost in¬ 
superable. But the impetuous young men were 
rewarded by finding that, encumbered with Cora, 
the Hurons were losing ground in the race. 

“Stay, dog of the Wyandots!” exclaimed Uncas, 
shaking his bright tomahawk at Magua. “A Dela¬ 
ware girl calls stay!” 


498 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“I will go no further,” cried Cora, stopping unex¬ 
pectedly on a ledge of rocks, that overhung a deep 
precipice, at no great distance from the summit of 
the mountain. “Kill me if thou wilt, detestable 
Huron. I will go no further.” 

The supporters of the maiden raised their ready 
tomahawks with the impious joy that fiends are 
thought to take in mischief, but Magua stayed the 
uplifted arms. The Huron chief, after casting the 
weapons he had wrested from his companions over 
the rock, drew his knife, and turned to his captive, 
with a look in whiph conflicting passions fiercely 
contended. 

“Woman,” he said, “choose; the wigwam or the 
knife of Le Subtil!” 

Cora regarded him not, but dropping on her knees, 
she raised her eyes and stretched her arms towards 
heaven, saying, in a meek and yet confiding voice,'— 

“I am thine! do with me as thou seest best!” 

“Woman,” repeated Magua, hoarsely, and en¬ 
deavoring in vain to catch a glance from her serene 
and beaming eye, “choose!” 

But Cora neither heard nor heeded his demand. 
The form of the Huron trembled in every fiber, and 
he raised his arm on high, but dropped it again 
with a bewildered air, like one who doubted. Once 
more he struggled with himself and lifted the keen 
weapon again; but just then a piercing cry was 
heard above them, and Uncas appeared leaping 
frantically, from a fearful height, upon the ledge. 
Magua recoiled a step; and one of his assistants, 
profiting by the chance, sheathed his own knife in 
the bosom of Cora . 7 

The Huron sprang like a tiger on his offending 
and already retreating countryman, but the falling 


7 In the first edition, “of the maiden.’’ 



The Last op the Mohicans 


499 


form of Uncas separated the unnatural combatants. 
Diverted from his object by his interruption, and 
maddened by the murder he had just witnessed, 
Magua buried his weapon in the back of the pros¬ 
trate Delaware, uttering an unearthly shout as he 
committed the dastardly deed. But Uncas arose 
from the blow, as the wounded panther turns upon 
his foe, and struck the murderer of Cora to his feet, 
by an effort in which the last of his failing strength 
was expended. Then with a stern and steady look, 
he turned to Le Subtil, and indicated, by the ex¬ 
pression of his eye, all that he would do, had not 
the power deserted him. The latter seized the nerve¬ 
less arm of the unresisting Delaware, and passed 
his knife into his bosom three several times, before 
his victim, still keeping his gaze riveted on his 
enemy, with a look of inextinguishable scorn, fell 
dead at his feet. 

“Mercy! mercy! Huron,” cried Heyward, from 
above, in tones nearly choked by horror. “Give 
mercy, and thou shalt receive it!” 

Whirling the bloody knife up at the imploring 
youth, the victorious Magua uttered a cry so fierce, 
so wild, and yet so joyous, that it conveyed the 
sounds of savage triumph to the ears of those who 
fought in the valley, a thousand feet below. He 
was answered by a burst from the lips of the scout, 
whose tall person was just then seen moving 
swiftly towards him, along those dangerous crags, 
with steps as bold and reckless as if he possessed 
the power to move in air. But when the hunter 
reached the scene of the ruthless massacre, the 
ledge was tenanted only by the dead. 

His keen eye took a single look at the victims, 
and then shot its glance over the difficulties of the 
ascent in his front. A form stood at the brow of 


600 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the mountain, on the very edge of the giddy height, 
with uplifted arms, in an awful attitude of menace. 
Without stopping to consider his person, the rifle of 
Hawkeye was raised; but a rock, which fell on the 
head of one of the fugitives below, exposed the in¬ 
dignant and glowing countenance of the honest 
Gamut. Then Magua issued from a crevice, and 
stepping with calm indifference over the body of 
the last of his associates, he leaped a wide fissure, 
and ascended the rocks at a point where the arm 
of David could not reach him. A single bound 
would carry him to the brow of the precipice, and 
assure his safety. Before taking the leap, however, 
the Huron paused, and shaking his hand at the 
scout, he shouted— 

“The pale-faces are dogs! the Delawares women! 
Magua leaves them on the rocks, for the crows!” 

Laughing hoarsely, he made a desperate leap, 
and fell short of his mark; though his hand grasped 
a shrub on the verge of the height. The form of 
Hawkeye had crouched like a beast about to take 
its spring, and his frame trembled so violently with 
eagerness, that the muzzle of the half-raised rifle 
played like a leaf fluttering in the wind. Without 
exhausting himself with fruitless efforts, the cun¬ 
ning Magua suffered his body to drop to the length 
of his arms, and found a fragment for his feet to 
rest on. Then summoning all his powers, he renewed 
the attempt, and so far succeeded, as to draw his 
knees on the edge of the mountain. It was now, 
when the body of his enemy was most collected 
together, that the agitated weapon of the scout was 
drawn to his shoulder. The surrounding rocks them¬ 
selves were not steadier than the piece became, 
for the single instant that it poured ort its con¬ 
tents. The arms of the Huron relaxed, and his 


The Last of the Mohicans 


501 


body fell a little, while his knees still kept their 
position. Turning a relentless look on his enemy, 
he shook a hand in grim defiance. But his hold 
loosened, and his dark person was seen cutting the 
air with its head downwards, for a fleeting instant, 
until it glided past the fringe of shrubbery which 
clung to the mountain, in its rapid flight to destruc¬ 
tion. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


“They fought—like brave men, long and well; 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain, 

They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 

His few surviving comrades saw 

His smiles when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red held was won; 

They saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night’s repose. 

Like flowers at set of sun.” 

—Halleck, Marco Bozzaris. 

The sun found the Lenape, on the succeeding 
day, a nation of mourners . 1 The sounds of battle 
were over, and they had fed fat their ancient grudge, 
and had avenged their recent quarrel with the 
Mengwe, by the destruction of a community. The 
black and murky atmosphere that floated around 
the spot where the Hurons had encamped, sufficient¬ 
ly announced, of itself, the fate of that wandering 
tribe; while hundreds of ravens, that struggled 
above the bleak summits of the mountains, or swept 
in noisy flocks across the wide ranges of the woods, 
furnished a frightful direction to the scene of the 
fatal combat. In short, any eye, at all practised in 
the signs of a frontier warfare, might easily have 
traced all those unerring evidences of the ruthless 
results which attend an Indian vengeance. 

Still the sun rose on the tke- Lenape, a nation of 
mourners. No shouts of success, no songs of 
triumph, were heard in rejoicings for their victory. 
The latest straggler had returned from his fell 
employment, only to strip himself of the terrific 

"Indian burial scenes are described in Jonathan Carver’s 
Travels, Heckewelder’s Indian Nations, etc. Cooper relied 
especially on the former for this chapter. 

[ 502 ] 



The Last of the Mohicans 503 

emblems of his bloody calling, and to join in the 
lamentations of his countrymen, as a stricken people. 
Pride and exultation were supplanted by humility, 
and the fiercest of human passions were already 
succeeded by the most profound and unequivocal 
demonstrations of grief. 

The lodges were deserted; but a broad belt of 
earnest faces encircled a spot in their vicinity, 
whither everything possessing life had repaired, 
and where all were now collected, in a deep and 
awful silence. Though beings of every rank and 
age, of both sexes, and of all pursuits, had united 
to form this breathing wall of bodies, they were 
influenced by a single emotion. Each eye was riveted 
on the center of that ring, which contained the ob¬ 
jects of so much, and of so common an interest. 

Six Delaware girls, with their long, dark, flowing 
tresses, falling loosely across their bosoms, stood 
apart, and only gave proofs of their existence, as 
they occasionally strewed sweet scented herbs and 
forest bowers on a litter of fragrant plants, that, 
under a pall of Indian robes, supported all that 
now remained of the ardent, high-souled, and gen¬ 
erous Cora. Her form was concealed in many wrap¬ 
pers of the same simple manufacture, and her face 
was shut forever from the gaze of human eyes. At 
her feet was seated the desolate Munro. His aged 
head was bowed nearly to the earth, in compelled 
submission to the stroke of Providence; but a hidden 
anguish struggled about his furrowed brow, that 
was only partially concealed by the careless locks 
of gray that had fallen, neglected, on his temples. 
Gamut stood at his side, his meek head bared to 
the rays of the sun, while his eyes, wandering and 
concerned, seemed to be equally divided between 
that little volume, which contained so many quaint 
but holy maxims, and the being in whose behalf his 


504 


The Last of the Mohicans 


soul yearned to administer consolation. Heyward 
was also nigh, supporting himself against a tree, 
and endeavoring to keep down those sudden risings of 
sorrow that it required his utmost manhood to sub¬ 
due. 

But sad and melancholy as this group may easily 
be imagined, it was far less touching than another, 
that occupied the opposite space of the same area. 
Seated, as in life, with his form and limbs arranged 
in grave and decent composure, Uncas appeared, ar¬ 
rayed in the most gorgeous ornaments that the 
wealth of the tribe could furnish. Rich plumes 
nodded above his head; wampum, gorgets, bracelets, 
and medals, adorned his person in profusion; though 
his dull eye and vacant lineaments too strongly con¬ 
tradicted the idle tale of pride they would convey. 

Directly in front of the corpse Chingachgook was 
placed, without arms, paint, or adornment of any 
sort, except the bright blue blazonry of his race, 
that was indelibly impressed on his naked bosom. 
During the long period that the tribe had been thus 
collected, the Mohican warrior had kept a steady, 
anxious look on the cold and senseless countenance 
of his son. So riveted and intense had been that 
gaze, and so changeless his attitude, that a stranger 
might not have told the living from the dead, but 
for the occasional gleamings of a troubled spirit 
that shot athwart the dark visage of one, and the 
death-like calm that had forever settled on the linea¬ 
ments of the other. 

The scout was hard by, leaning in a pensive 
posture on his own fatal and avenging weapon; 
while Tamenund, supported by the elders of his 
nation, occupied a high place at hand, whence he 
might look down on the mute and sorrowful assem¬ 
blage of his people, 


The Last of the Mohicans 


505 


Just within the inner edge of the circle stood a 
soldier,' in the military attire of a strange nation; 
and without it was his war-horse, in the center of 
a collection of mounted domestics, seemingly in 
readiness to undertake some distant journey. The 
vestments of the stranger announced him to be 
one who held a responsible situation near the per¬ 
son of the captain of the Canadas; and who, as it 
would now seem, finding his errand of peace 
frustrated by the fierce impetuosity of his allies, 
was content to become a silent and sad spectator 
of the fruits of a contest that he had arrived too 
late to anticipate. 

The day was drawing to the close of its first 
quarter, and yet had the multitude maintained its 
breathing stillness since its daw r n. No sound louder 
than a stifled sob had been heard among them, nor 
had even a limb been moved throughout that long 
and painful period except to perform the simple and 
touching offerings that were made, from time to time, 
in commemoration of the dead." The patience and 
forbearance of Indian fortitude could alone sup¬ 
port such an appearance of abstraction, as seemed 
now to have turned each dark and motionless figure 
into stone . 4 

At length the sage of the Delawares stretched 
forth an arm, and leaning on the shoulders of his 
attendants, he arose with an air as feeble, as if 
another age had already intervened between the 
man who had met his nation the preceding day, and 
him who now tottered on his elevated stand. 

3 He is said later to be an Aide of Montcalm. His pres¬ 
ence as-a spectator adds to the picturesquenes of the 
scene. 

a In the first edition, “of the sweetness of the maiden.” 

4 In the first edition, “some rigid being carved into stone.” 



506 


The Last of the Mohicans 


“Men of the Lenape!” he said, in hollow tones, 
that sounded like a voice charged with some pro¬ 
phetic mission, “the face of the Manitto is behind a 
cloud! his eye is turned from you; his ears are 
shut; his tongue gives no answer. You see him 
not; yet his judgments are before you. Let your 
hearts be open, and your spirits tell no lie. Men of 
the Lenape, the face of the Manitto is behind a 
cloud!” 

As this simple and yet terrible annunciation stole 
on the ears of the multitude, a stillness as deep and 
awful succeeded, as if the venerated spirit they 
worshipped had uttered the words, without the aid 
of human organs; and even the inanimate Uncas 
appeared a being of life, compared with the humbled 
and submissive throng by whom he was now 
surrounded. As the immediate effect, however, grad¬ 
ually passed away, a low murmur of voices com¬ 
menced a sort of chant in honor of the dead. The 
sounds were those of females, and were thrillingly 
soft and wailing. The words were connected by no 
regular continuation, but as one ceased, another took 
up the eulogy, or lamentation, whichever it might be 
called, and gave vent to her emotions in such lan¬ 
guage as was suggested by her feelings and the 
occasion. At intervals the speaker was interrupted 
by general and loud bursts of sorrow, during which 
the girls round the bier of Cora plucked the plants 
and flowers, blindly, from her body, as if bewildered 
with grief. But in the milder moments of their 
plaints these emblems of purity and sweetness were 
cast back to their places, with every sign of tender¬ 
ness and regret. Though rendered less connected 
by many and general interruptions and outbreakings, 
a translation of their language would have con¬ 
tained a regular descant, which in substance, might 


The Last of the Mohicans 507 

have proved to possess a train of consecutive ideas. 

A girl, selected for the task by her rank and 
qualifications, commenced by modest allusions to 
the qualities of the deceased warrior, embellishing 
her expressions with those oriental images that the 
Indians have probably brought with them from the 
extremes of the other continent, and which form 
of themselves a link to connect the ancient histories 
of the two worlds. She called him the “panther of 
his tribe”; and described him as one whose moccasin 
left no trail on the dews; whose bound was like the 
leap of the young fawn; whose eye was brighter 
than a star in the dark night; and whose voice, in 
battle, was loud as the thunder of the Manitto. She 
reminded him of the mother who bore him, and dwelt 
forcibly on the happiness she must feel in possess¬ 
ing such a son. She bade him tell her, when they 
met in the world of spirits, that the Delaware girls 
had shed tears above the grave of her child, and had 
called her blessed. 6 

Then, they who succeeded, changing their tones to 
a milder and still more tender strain, alluded, with 
the delicacy and sensitiveness of woman, to the 
stranger maiden, who had left upper earth at a time 
so near his own departure, as to render the will 
of the Great Spirit too manifest to be disregarded. 
They admonished him to be kind to her, and to 
have consideration for her ignorance of those arts 
which were so necessary to the comfort of a war¬ 
rior like himself. They dwelt upon her matchless 
beauty, and on her noble resolution, without the 
taint of envy, and as angels may be thought to de¬ 
light in a superior excellence; adding, that these 

s The chant of the Indian girl has white elements in it. 
It is too elaborate and too subtle and its sentiments too 
like those of white people for it to seem genuinely Indian. 



508 


The Last of the Mohicans 


endowments should prove more than equivalent 
for any little imperfections in her education. 

After which, others again, in due succession, spoke 
to the maiden herself, in the low, soft language of 
tenderness and love. They exhorted her to be of 
cheerful mind, and to fear nothing for her future 
welfare. A hunter would be her companion who 
knew how to provide for her smallest wants; a war¬ 
rior was at her side, who was able to protect her 
against every danger. They promised that her path 
should be pleasant, and her burden light. They 
cautioned her against unavailing regrets for the 
friends of her youth, and the scenes where her 
fathers had dwelt; assuring her that the “blessed 
hunting-grounds of the Lenape” contained vales 
as pleasant, streams as pure, and flowers as sweet 
as the “heaven of the pale-faces.” They advised her 
to be attentive to the wants of her companion, and 
never to forget the distinction which the Manitto 
had so wisely established between them. Then, in 
a wild burst of their chant, they sung, with united 
voice, the temper of the Mohican’s mind. They 
pronounced him noble, manly, and generous, all that 
became a warrior, and all that a maid might love. 
Clothing their ideas in the most remote and subtle 
images, they betrayed, that, in the short period of 
their intercourse, they had discovered, with the in¬ 
tuitive perception of their sex, the truant disposition 
of his inclinations. The Delaware girls had found 
no favor in his eyes! He was of a race that had 
once been lords on the shores of the salt lake, and 
his wishes had led him back to a people who dwelt 
about the graves of his fathers. Why should not 
such a predilection be encouraged? That she was 
of a blood purer and richer than the rest of her 
nation, any eye might have seen. That she was 


The Last of the Mohicans 


509 


equal to the dangers and daring of a life in the 
woods, her conduct had proved; and, now, they 
added, the “wise one of the earth” had transplanted 
her to a place where she would find congenial spirits, 
and might be forever happy. 

Then, with another transition in voice and subject, 
allusions were made to the virgin who wept in the 
adjacent lodge. They compared her to flakes of 
snow; as pure, as white, as brilliant, and as liable 
to melt in the fierce heats of summer, or congeal in 
the frosts of winter. They doubted not that she was 
lovely in the eyes of the young chief, whose skin 
and whose sorrow seemed so like her own; but, 
though far from expressing such a preference, it 
was evident they deemed her less excellent than the 
maid they mourned. Still they denied her no meed 
her rare charms might properly claim. Her ringlets 
were compared to the exuberant tendrils of the vine, 
her eye to the blue*vault of the heavens, and the 
most spotless cloud, with its glowing flush of the 
sun, was admitted to be less attractive than her 
bloom. 

During these and similar songs nothing was aud¬ 
ible but the murmurs of the music; relieved, as it 
was, or rather rendered terrible, by those occasional 
bursts of grief which might be called its choruses. 
The Delawares themselves listened like charmed 
men; and it was very apparent, by the variations 
of their speaking countenances, how deep and true 
was their sympathy. Even David was not reluctant 
to lend his ears to tones of voices so sweet; and long 
ere the chant was ended, his gaze announced that 
his soul was enthralled. 

The scout, to whom alone, of all the white men, 
the words were intelligible, suffered himself to be 
a little aroused from the meditative posture, and 


510 


The Last of the Mohicans 


bent his face aside, to catch their meanings, as the 
girls proceeded. But when they spoke of the future 
prospects of Cora and Uncas, he shook his head, 
like one who knew the error of their simple creed, 
and resuming his reclining attitude, he maintained 
it until the ceremony, if that might be called a 
ceremony, in which feeling was so deeply imbued, 
was finished. Happily for the self-command of 
both Heyward and Munro, they knew not the mean¬ 
ing 'of the wild sounds they heard. 

Chingachgook was a solitary exception to the in¬ 
terest manifested by the native part of the audience. 
His look never changed throughout the whole of 
the scene, nor did a muscle move in his rigid coun¬ 
tenance, even at the wildest or the most pathetic 
parts of the lamentation. The cold and senseless 
remains of his son were 0 all to him, and every other 
sense but that of sight seemed frozen, in order that 
his eyes might take their final,gaze at those linea¬ 
ments he had so long loved, and which were now 
about to be closed forever from his view. 

In this stage of the funeral obsequies, a warrior 
much renowned for deeds in arms, and more espe¬ 
cially for services in the recent combat, a man of stern 
and grave demeanor, advanced slowly from the 
crowd, and placed himself nigh the person of the 
dead. 

“Why hast thou left us, pride of the Wapanachki?” 
he said, addressing himself to the dull ears of 
Uncas, as if the empty clay retained the faculties 
of the animated man. “Thy time has been like that 
of the sun when in the trees; thy glory brighter 
than his light at noonday. Thou art gone, youthful 
warrior, but a hundred Wyandots are clearing the 
briers from thy path to the world of spirits. Who 


6 In the first edition "was.” 



The Last of the Mohicans 


511 


that saw thee in battle would believe that thou 
couldst die? Who before thee has ever shown Utta- 
wa the way into the fight? Thy feet were like the 
wings of eagles; thine arm heavier than falling 
branches from the pine; and thy voice like the 
Manitto when he speaks in the clouds. The tongue 
of Uttawa is weak,” he added, looking about him 
with a melancholy gaze, “and his heart exceeding 
heavy. Pride of the Wapanachki, why hast thou left 
us?” 

He was succeeded by others, in due order, until 
most of the high and gifted men of the nation had 
sung or spoken their tribute of praise over the 
manes of the deceased chief . 7 When each had ended, 
another deep and breathing silence reigned in all 
the place. 

Then a low, deep sound was heard, like the sup¬ 
pressed accompaniment of distant music, rising just 
high enough on the air to be audible, and yet so 
indistinctly, as to leave its character, and the place 
whence it proceeded, alike matters of conjecture. 
It was, however, succeeded by another and another 
strain, each in a higher key, until they grew on the 
ear, first in long drawn and often repeated inter¬ 
jections, and finally in words. The lips of Ching- 
achgook had so far parted, as to announce that it 
was the monody of the father . 8 Though not an eye 
was turned towards him, nor the smallest sign of 
impatience exhibited, it was apparent, by the manner 
in which the multitude elevated their heads to 
listen, that they drank in the sound with an intense¬ 
ness of attention, that none but Tamenund him¬ 
self had ever before commanded. But they listened 

•in tlie first edition “chieftain.” 

“The first edition added “which was now about to be 
uttered.” 



512 


The Last of the Mohicans 


in vain. The strains rose just so loud, as to become 
intelligible, and then grew fainter and more tremb¬ 
ling, until they finally sunk on the ear, as if borne 
away by a passing breath of wind. The lips ol 
the Sagamore closed, and he remained silent in 
his seat, looking with his riveted eye and motionless 
form like some creature that had been turned from 
the Almighty hand with the form, but without the 
spirit of a man. The Delawares, who knew, by these 
symptoms, that the mind of their friend was nor 
prepared for so mighty an effort of fortitude, re¬ 
laxed in their attention, and, with innate delicacy, 
seemed to bestow all their thoughts on the obse¬ 
quies of the stranger maiden. 

A signal was given, by one of the elder chiefs, to 
the women, who crowded that part of the circle near 
which the body of Cora lay. Obedient to the sign, 
the girls raised the bier to the elevation of their 
heads, and advanced with slow and regulated steps, 
chanting, as they proceeded, another soft, low, and 
wailing song, in praise of the deceased. Gamut, 
who had been a close observer of rites he deemed 
so heathenish, now bent his head over the shoulder 
of the unconscious father; whispering— 

‘‘They move with the remains of thy child; shall 
we not follow, and see them interred with Christian 
burial?” 

Munro started, as though the last trumpet had 
sounded its blast in his ear, and bestowing one 
anxious and hurried glance around him, he arose 
and followed in the simple train, with the mien of 
a soldier, but bearing the full burden of a parent’s 
suffering. His friends pressed around him with a 
sorrow that was too strong to be termed sympathy 
—even the young Frenchman joining in the proces¬ 
sion, with the air of a man who was sensibly touched 


The Last of the Mohicans 


513 


at the early and melancholy fate of one so lovely. 
But when the last and humblest female of the tribe 
had joined in the wild, and yet ordered, array, the 
men of the Lenape contracted their circle, and 
formed again around the person of Uncas, as silent, 
as grave, and as motionless, as before. 

The place which had been chosen for the grave 
of Cora, was a little knoll, where a cluster of young 
and healthful pines had taken root, forming of them¬ 
selves a melancholy and appropriate shade over the 
spot. On reaching it, the girls deposited their 
burden and continued, for many minutes, waiting 
with characteristic patience, and native timidity, 
for some evidence, that they whose feelings were 
most concerned, were content with the arrangement. 
At length, the scout, who alone understood their 
habits, said in their own language— 

“My daughters have done well. The white men 
thank them.” 

Satisfied with this testimony in their favor, the 
girls proceeded to deposit the body in a shell, ingen¬ 
iously, and not inelegantly, fabricated of the bark 
of the birch; after which, they lowered it into its 
dark and final abode. The ceremony of covering the 
remains, and concealing the marks of the fresh earth, 
by leaves and other natural and customary objects, 
was conducted with the same simple and silent forms. 
But when the labors of the kind beings, who had per¬ 
formed these sad and friendly offices, were so far 
completed, they hesitated, in a way to show that they 
knew not how much farther they might proceed. It 
was in this stage of the rites, that the scout again 
addressed them— 

“My young women have done enough,” he said. 
“The spirit of a pale-face has no need of food or 
raiment—their gifts being according to the heaven of 


514 


The Last of the Mohicans 


their color. I see,” he added, glancing an eye at 
David, who was preparing his book in a manner.that 
indicated an intention to lead the way in sacred song, 
“that one who better knows the Christian fashions, is 
about to speak.” 

The females stood modestly aside, and, from having 
been the principal actors in the scene, they now be¬ 
came the meek and attentive observers of that which 
followed. During the time David was occupied in 
pouring out the pious feelings of his spirit in this 
manner, not a sign of surprise, nor a look of im¬ 
patience, escaped them. They listened as though they 
knew the meaning of the strange words, and appeared 
as if they felt the mingled emotions of sorrow, hope, 
and resignation, they were intended to convey. 

Excited by the scene he had just witnessed, and per¬ 
haps influenced by his own secret emotions, the mas¬ 
ter of song exceeded his usual efforts. His full, rich 
voice was not found to suffer by a comparison with 
the soft tones of the girls; and his more modulated 
strains possessed, at' least for the ears of those to 
whom they were peculiarly addressed, the additional 
power of intelligence. He ended the anthem, as he 
had commenced it, in the midst of a grave and sol¬ 
emn stillness. 

When, however, the closing cadence had fallen on 
the ears of his auditors, the secret, timorous glances 
of the eyes, and the general, and yet subdued move¬ 
ment of the assemblage, betrayed that something was 
expected from the father of the deceased. Munro 
seemed sensible that the time was come for him to 
exert what is, perhaps, the greatest effort of which 
human nature is capable. He bared his gray locks, 
and looked around the timid and quiet throng by 
which he was encircled with a firm and collected 
countenance. Then motioning with his hand for the 
scout to listen, he said— 


The Last of the Mohicans 


515 


“Say to these kind and gentle females, that a 
heartbroken and failing man returns them his thanks. 
Tell them, that the Being we all worship, under dif¬ 
ferent names, will be mindful of their charity; and 
that the time shall not be distant when we may 
assemble around His throne without distinction of 
sex, or rank, or color.” 

The scout listened to the tremulous voice in which 
the veteran delivered these words, and shook his 
head slowly when they were ended, as one who 
doubted their efficacy. 

“To tell them this,” he said, “would be to tell them 
that the snows come not in the winter, or that the 
sun shines fiercest when the trees are stripped of 
their leaves.’’ 

Then turning to the women, he made such a com¬ 
munication of the other’s gratitude as he deemed most 
suited to the capacities of his listeners. The head of 
Munro had already sunk upon his chest, and he was 
again fast relapsing into melancholy, when the young 
Frenchman, before named ventured to touch him 
lightly on the elbow. As soon as he had gained the 
attention of the mourning old man, he pointed to¬ 
wards a group of young Indians, who approached 
with a light but closely covered litter, and then pointed 
upward toward the sun. 

“I understand you, sir,” returned Munro, with a 
voice of forced firmness. “I understand you. It is 
the will of Heaven, and I submit. Cora, my child! if 
the prayers of a heartbroken father could avail thee 
now, how blessed shouldst thou be! Come, gentle¬ 
men,” he added, looking about him with an air of 
lofty composure, though the anguish that quivered in 
his faded countenance was far too powerful to be 
concealed, “our duty here is ended. Let us depart.” 
Heyward gladly obeyed a summons that took them 


516 


The Last of the Mohicans 


from a spot, where, each instant, he felt his self-con¬ 
trol was about to desert him. While his companions 
were mounting, however, he found time to press the 
hand of the scout, and to repeat the terms of an en¬ 
gagement they had made, to meet again, within the 
posts of the British army. Then gladly throwing 
himself into the saddle, he spurred his charger to 
the side of the litter, whence low and stifled sobs 
alone announced the presence of Alice. In this man¬ 
ner, the head of Munro again dropping on his bosom, 
with Heyward and David following in sorrowing 
silence, and attended by the Aide of Montcalm, with 
his guard, all the white men, with the exception of 
Hawkeye, passed from before the eyes of the Dela¬ 
wares, and were soon buried in the vast forest of 
that region. 

But the tie which, through their common calamity, 
had united the feelings of these simple dwellers in 
the woods with the strangers who had thus transiently 
visited them, was not so easily broken. Years passed 
away before the traditionary tale of the white maiden, 
and of the young warrior of the Mohicans, ceased 
to beguile the long nights and tedious marches of 
their weariness, or to animate their youthful and 
brave with a desire for vengeance against their nat¬ 
ural enemies. Neither were the secondary actors in 
all these momentous incidents immediately forgotten. 
Through the medium of the scout, who served for 
years afterwards as a link between them and civilized 
life, they learned, in answer to their inquiries, that 
the “Gray-Head” was speedily gathered to his fathers; 
borne down, as was erroneously believed, by his mili¬ 
tary misfortunes; and that the “Open-Hand” had 
conveyed his surviving daughter far into the settle¬ 
ments of the “pale-faces,” where her tears had at 
last ceased to flow, and had been succeeded by the 


The Last of the Mohicans 


517 


bright smiles which were better suited to her happy 
and joyous nature. 

But these were events of a time later than that 
which concerns our tale. Deserted by all of his color, 
Hawkeye returned to the spot where his own sym¬ 
pathies led him, with a force that no ideal bond of 
union could bestow. He was just in time to catch a 
parting look of the features of Uncas, whom the Dela¬ 
wares were already inclosing in his last vestments of 
skins. They paused to permit the longing and linger¬ 
ing gaze of the sturdy woodsman, and when it was 
ended, the body was enveloped, never to be unclosed 
again. Then came a procession like the other, and 
the whole nation was collected about the temporary 
grave of the chief—temporary, because it was proper 
that, at some future day, his bones should rest among 
those of his own people. 

The movement, like the feeling, had been simulta¬ 
neous and general. The same grave expression of 
grief, the same rigid silence, and the same deference 
to the principal mourner, were observed around the 
place of interment as have already been described. 
The body was deposited in an attitude of repose, fac¬ 
ing the rising sun, with the implements of war and of 
the chase at hand, in readiness for the final journey. 
An opening was left in the shell by which it was 
protected from the soil, for the spirit to communicate 
with its earthly tenement, when necessary; and the 
whole was concealed from the instinct, and protected 
from the ravages of the beast of prey, with an in¬ 
genuity peculiar to the natives. The manual rites 
then ceased, and all present reverted to the more 
spiritual part of the ceremonies. 

Chingachgook became once more the object of 
the common attention. He had not yet spoken, and 
something consolatory and instructive was expected 
from so renowned a chief on an occasion of such inter- 


518 


The Last of the Mohicans 


est. Conscious of the wishes of the people, the 
stern and self-restrained warrior raised his face, 
which had latterly been buried in his robe, and looked 
about him with a steady eye. His firmly compressed 
and expressive lips then severed, and for the first 
time during the long ceremonies, his voice was heard, 
distinctly audible. 

“Why do my brothers mourn?” he said, regarding 
the dark race of dejected warriors, by whom he was 
environed. “Why do my daughters weep? That a 
young man has gone to the happy hunting-grounds? 
That a chief has filled his time with honor? He was 
good. He was dutiful. He was brave. Who can 
deny it? The Manitto had need of such a warrior, 
and he has called him away. As for me, the son and 
the father of Uncas, I am a blazed pine in a clearing 
of the pale-faces. My race has gone from the shores 
of the salt lake, and the hills of the Delawares. But 
who can say that the serpent of his tribe has for¬ 
gotten his wisdom? I am alone—” 

“No, no.” cned Hawkeye, who had been gazing with 
a yearning look at the rigid features of his friend, with 
something like his own self-command, but whose 
philosophy could endure no longer. “No, Sagamore, 
not alone. The gifts of our color may be different, 
but, 'God has so placed us to journey inthesamepath. 
I have no kin, and I may also say, like you, no people. 
He was your son, and a red-skin by nature; and it may 
be, that your blood was nearer—but if ever I forget 
the lad, who has so often fou’t at my side in war, 
and slept at my side in peace, may He who made us 
all, whatever may be our color or our gifts, forget 
me! The boy has left us for a time, but, Sagamore, 
you are not alone. ,; 

Chingachgook grasped the hands that, in the warmth 
of his feeling, the scout had stretched across the 
fresh earth, and in that attitude of friendship, these 


The Last of the Mohicans 


519 


two sturdy and intrepid woodsmen bowed their heads 
together, while scalding tears fell to their feet, water¬ 
ing the grave of Uncas, like drops of fallen rain. 

In the midst of the awful stillness with which such 
a burst of feeling, coming, as it did, from the two 
most renowned warriors of that region, was received, 
Tamenund lifted his voice, to disperse the multitude. 

“It is enough,” he said. “Go, children of the Lenape, 
the anger of the Manitto is not done. Why should 
Tamenund stay? The pale-faces are masters of the 
earth, and the time of the red-man has not yet come 
again. My day has been too long. In the morning 
I saw the sons of Unamis happy and strong; and 
yet, before the night has come, have I lived to see 
the last warrior of the wise race of the Mohicans.” 


GLOSSARY 


admirator. Admirer. (Obsolete or dialectal.) VI. 
alluvion. Alluvium, or the earthy material, sand, gravel, 
mud, deposited by floods, or wherever the flow is 
checked in the currents of streams. XXI. 
anan. An obsolete or dialectal interjection often used by 
Leather-Stocking when he is in doubt or does not un¬ 
derstand. It is a form of anon, but has not the same 
meaning. VI. 

animadversion. A disparaging remark. Censure, blame. I. 
baggage. A saucy or worthless young woman. Colonel 
Munro’s playful name for his daughter. XVI. 
beaver. A head-covering originally made of beaver skin, 
later of silken imitation. Worn by both men and 
women. See castor. I. 

bastion. A work projecting outward from a main forti¬ 
fication wall and commanding the foreground and 
outworks. It consists of two faces that meet at a 
salient angle. XIV. 

blazed. To blaze is to indicate a guide or landmark by 
chipping pieces of bark from trees, leaving white 
marks. But see Cooper’s note, XXXI, 2. 
brigantine. A two-masted square-rigged vessel, differing 
from a brig in that it has a fore-and-aft, not a square, 
mainsail. I. 

calabash. A water dipper or other utensil made from the 
dry shell of a gourd, or sometimes from other mate¬ 
rial. VI. 

calculate. Think, consider, suppose. Termed by diction¬ 
aries an “Americanism” in this usage. IV. 

Canterbury gallop. A canter. Ultimately the reference 
is to the gait supposed to have been used by Chaucer’s 
pilgrims to Canterbury. II. 

castle. The principal village of an Indian tribe in New 
York state. The fortified or palisaded Indian villages 
of the Six Nations were spoken of by the French as 
castles and the usage lasted into the nineteenth cen¬ 
tury. See Cooper’s note, V, 8. 
castor. A hat, especially of beaver. II. See beaver. 

[520] • 


The Last of the Mohicans 


521 


charger. An army officer’s horse. I. 

A device or instrument for inserting a charge in a 
gun. III. 

composser. See non-composser, and XXII, note 1. 
corn feast. The occasion when corn was gathered by the 
Indians and roasted for the winter. An important 
event among tribes that cultivated corn. XXII. 
curtain. That part of a bastioned front of a fortification 
connecting two neighboring bastions. XX. 
debouched (de-booshd'). To debouch is to march out or 
emerge from a confined space into open ground. XXXII. 
dis remembering. Forgetful. (Archaic or dialectal.) 

XIII. 

duress. Compulsory imprisonment or restraint. XXVII. 
empiric (em-pir'-ik). A quack or charlatan. One who 
deviates from the rules of regular practice. XXV. 
empiricism. The practice of medicine founded merely on 
experience. Charlatanry, quackery. XXIV. 
fire-water. Ardent spirits, like whiskey, gin, or rum. The 
name given strong drink by the American Indians, 
among whom it was introduced by the white race. III. 
flowed. The verb is used transitively by Cooper in the 
sense of overflow or inundate. XXI. 
four-in-hand. A team of four horses driven by one person, 
or occasionally the vehicle so drawn. XV. 
gauntlet. A former military or naval punishment, in 
which a culprit was compelled to run between two 
lines of men who beat him with rods, ropes, etc. 
The Indians practiced a similar mode of procedure 
with captives. See XXIII, 8. 
glacis (glay'-sis or glass'-is). The easy slope of an earth¬ 
work toward the open country. It is so designed that 
attacking troops must climb it exposed to fire from 
the ramparts. XIV. 

handkercher. Obsolete or dialectal variant of handker¬ 
chief. XII. 

happy hunting-grounds. The Indian Paradise. Placed by 
Magua toward the setting isun not as usually toward 
the rising sun. XXIV. 

harlcee. In common use in the eighteenth century and be- 


522 


The Last of the Mohicans 


coming obsolete in 'the nineteenth. From hark ye. 
See XVI, 7. 

hereaway, liereaways. Obsolete or dialectal for hereabouts. 
XIII, XIV. 

holsters. Leather pistol cases, usually worn at the belt or 
fastened to the saddle. IV, V. 

hoot. Stock Scottish exclamation denoting surprise or 
displeasure. V. 

jesuitical. Resembling the Jesuits and their supposed 
practices. Crafty, deceitful. 

laird. A landholder. Scottish form of lord but with dif¬ 
ferent meaning. XVI. 

league. A measure of distance equal to about three miles. 

I. 

lick. A place where animals come for salt. See Cooper’s 
note XII, 25. Also III, 10. 

mails. Meshed bags or wallets, traveling bags. (Obsolete 
or Scottish.) III. Present-day mail or postal matter 
has its name from the bags in which it was carried. 

marquee (mar-kee'). A large field tent for officers of 
high rank. V, XVI. 

marquisate. Territory governed by a marquis, or the rank 
and dignity of a marquis. XVI. 

musicianer. Obsolete or dialectal for musician. XXXI. 
In Cooper’s day the word had considerable currency. 

musikate. Make music. (Possibly of Cooper’s coinage.) 
XXXII. 

nankeen. Cotton cloth originally made in Nanking, China, 
brownish yellow in color. I. 

my-hog-guinea. Leather-Stocking’s variant of mahoghany. 

VI. 

non-composser. A person who is non compos mentis, or 
weak-minded. XXII, XXVI. 

obligate. Used in the sense of pledge or guarantee. XXVI. 

othersome, at. At other times. Not the scout’s coinage but 
used by other writers besides Cooper, e. g., Walt Whit¬ 
man in his newspaper sketches. VI. 

panoply. Originally a full suit of plate armor, then any¬ 
thing that defends or protects by covering completely, 
and finally anything bright or magnificent that covers 
its wearer. XII. 


The Last of the Mohicans 


523 


Patteroon. In 1692, for purposes of colonization, the 
Dutch East Indies Company granted charters to those 
who would plant a colony in New Netherlands. These 
wealthy landholders of large estates in New York 
and the Colonial South (not* in New England) were 
called Patteroons or Patroons. They held their leases 
in a sort of feudal tenure. The colonists were bound 
to them for a period and they ruled in a semi-feudal 
way. XIII, 7. 

pepperidge. The sour black gum tree or tupelo, having 
firm, close-grained wood. Sometimes the common 
barberry is called pepperidge. YI. 
pigeon-winging , or to “cut a pigeon wing.” A fancy step 
executed by jumping and striking the legs together. 
XXI. 

pipestone. Soft gray soapstone, contrasting with the hard¬ 
ness of flint. The Indians used the stone for carving 
tobacco pipes. XXY. 
poll. Head or skull. XIX. 

porretch. The Scotch variant of porridge. XV. 
portage. The carrying of boats, stores, etc., overland be¬ 
tween navigable waters. Also the land or route over 
which they are carried. I. II, IV. 
predestinated. Archaic for predestined. XII. 
psalmody. The art or practice of singing psalms or sacred 
songs in worship. II, III. 

sagamore. The sachem or chief of a tribe among certain 
of the American Indians. Some term a sacliem of 
first rank and influence and a sagamore of second. 
(From a Delaware word.) III. 
sallyport. A gate for giving egress to sallying parties. 
XIV. 

saxafrax. The scout’s variant of “sassafras,” a tree with 
a spicy aromatic bark. Its fragrant bark and leaves 
were often made into seats and beds. Sassafras is 
thought’ to have tonic and curative powers. YI, VII. 
situate. Obsolete for situated. I, XXII. Used by Gamut. 
snows. Square-rigged vessels much like brigs, built for 
heavy freight. I. 

sortie. A sudden issiie of troops from a besieged place, to 
attack or harass. XIV. 


524 


The Last of the Mohicans 


suc-ca-tush. Succotash. Green Indian corn and beans, 
variously mixed. See Cooper’s note, XXVIII, 2. 
thereaway. Obsolete or dialectal for thereabouts. VI. 
timersome. Obsolete or dialectal for timorous. VII. In 
the first edition spelled timorsome. 
totem. A natural object, usually an animal (as a deer, 
fox, beaver or tortoise) _ assumed among the Indians 
as a pictorial sign or token of a group of human be¬ 
ings. usually a clan, because of its supposed intimate 
relationship with the human beings. Sometimes a 
picture of such an object is called a totem. A totem 
or symbol, or a totemic representation of a totemic 
being, was regarded by the Indians as an object of 
worship. XXII, XXVII. 

tutelar saint. Guardian spirit. The more common present- 
day form of the word is tutelary. XVIII. 
valetudinarian. Of infirm health, sickly. XV. 
varlet. Archaic for scoundrel, knave. XXV. One of the 
scout’s epithets of disparagement for the Indians. 
wales. Scotch word for selects, chooses. Verse heading 
from Bums. VI. 

wampum. The Indians used beads made of shell as money, 
ornaments, etc. III. 

wish-ton-wish. Whippoorwill, so-called from its oft re¬ 
peated note. XXII. 

well-laced. A beverage is well-laced when a dash of spirits 
is added. VI. 

younker. Colloquial for youth or stripling. In Spenser’s 
Faerie Queene it means gentleman or lord. XIII. 


PROPER NAMES 


Abraham, Plains of. A tableland, three hundred feet high, 
above Quebec. A battle here on September 13, 1759— 
in which the French under Montcalm were defeated 
and Montcalm and the English leader, General Wolfe, 
were killed — preceded the capture of Quebec which 
ended the French sway in North America. XVIII. 

Alligewi. A tribe appearing in the traditions of the Dela¬ 
ware Indians, perhaps an earlier Indian people con¬ 
quered by the invading Algonkins. III. 

Burgoyne, John (1722-1792). An English general in com¬ 
mand of the army that besieged Ticonderoga. XV. 

Cape Diamond. A Canadian promontory on which is the 
city of Quebec. XV. 

Chingachgook (Ohin-gach'-gook). Delaware sagamore or 
chief. See III, note 5. 

Chippeiva (Chip'-ewa). A tribe of the Algonkin stock of 
Indians, formerly inhabiting the region about Lake 
Superior. Also called C'hippeway or O jib way Indians. 
XXIV. 

Coeur-dur, Le. A Delaware Indian taking part in the con¬ 
ference with Magua. French for The Hard Heart. 
XXVIII. 

Dieskau (Dees'-kau), Baron Ludwig August (1701-1767). 

’A German French general in America. See Cooper’s 
note, XIV, 3. 

Du Quesne (doo-kanei'), Fort. Located in what is now 
Pennsylvania. Named after a French naval comman¬ 
der, Abraham Du Quesne (1610-16S8). I. 

Effingham, M'ajor of the 60th Regiment (the Royal Ameri¬ 
cans). A fictitious character. IV, XII, XIV. 

Dutchmanne. Also called Dutch, Dutohers. and Jarmans. 
See XXIX, 10; V, 7; XIII, 6; XX, 2. 

Glenn's Falls. See Introd. and V, 4; VI, 3. Now spelled 
Glen's. 

Horican. Hawkeye’s name for the Lac du. Saint Sacre- 
ment, or “holy lake,” now Lake George. See Cooper’s 
Introd., and I, 5. 

Huron. A tribe of Iroquois Indians formerly occupying the 
region between Lakes Huron, Erie, and Ontario. Later 

[525] 


526 


The Last of the Mohicans 


the Hurons were nearly exterminated by wars with 
the Five Indian Nations and by pestilence, or they 
were driven westward. IV. 

Iroquois (ir'-o-kwoi'). The French name for the Five Na¬ 
tions of the Indian Confederacy, the Mohawks, Oneidas, 
Onondagas, Cayugas, Senecas, formerly occupying cen¬ 
tral New York. Later a sixth tribe, the Tuscaroras, 
returned from exile and joined the Confederacy. See 
Cooper’s note, II, 2. 

Jarmans. The Dutch. XX. 

Johnson , Sir William (1715-1774). A prominent figure in 
colonial affairs of New York. Made a baronet by 
King George II for services in the campaign of 1755. 
He was an Irishman by birth. X. 

LennLLenape (Len'-ni Len'a-pee, or Lenah'pi). Delaware 
Indians. Lenape was the generic name of the Algon- 
kin tribes in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and vicinity. 
Cooper remarks in his introduction that in his narra¬ 
tive Lenni-Lenape, Delawares, Wapanachki, and Mo¬ 
hicans all mean the same people, or tribes of the same 
stock. 

Lothian, Marquis of. Scotch nobleman referred to in XV. 

Magna. Huron Indian, called by the French Le Renard 
Subtil. IV, etc. 

Manitto (man'-i-to). A spirit or spiritual being that,* to 
Algonkin Indians, dominated the forces of nature. 
Manitto is the spelling of Heckewelder in his Indian 
Nations (1819). The name is now usually spelled 
Manito or Manitou. XXIX. 

Maquas. Cooper’s introduction says that this name was 
given by the Dutch to the Mohawks. III. 

Mengwe. The Iroquois or Mingoes. According to Cooper’s 
introduction “The Mengwe, the Maquas, the Mingoes, 
and the Iroquois, though not all strictly the same, are 
identified frequently by speakers, being politically con¬ 
federated and opposed to the Lenni-Lenape.” 

Menmoqua. Name of an Indian killed in the fight at. the 
falls. XI. 

Mingo. A term of disparagement applied by the Delawares 
to their enemies, especially the Hurons. The spelling 
of the plural in the first edition is Mingoes. Later 


The Last of the Mohicans 


527 


editions often have Mingos, e. g., the edition of 1859. 
Mengwe and Maquas were also, in lesser degree, terms 
of reproach for the Iroquois. 

Mohicans (Mo-he'-kans). One of the tribes of Algonkin In¬ 
dians formerly living in eastern New York and Con¬ 
necticut. One division probably had its main abode 
along the Hudson. The Mohicans fought for the Eng¬ 
lish against the French. Cooper speaks in his In¬ 
troduction of the “Mahicanni, Mohicans, Mohegans; 
the latter being the word commonly used by the whites.” 

Mohawks. Indians of the principal tribe of the Iroquois 
confederacy, formerly occupying the Mohawk valley in 
New York State. I, IV, etc. 

Montcalm, Louis Joseph de Montcalm de St. Veran (mont- 
kahm'), 1712-1759. French Marquis and general. III. 

Mount Defiance. A hill overlooking Fort Ticonderoga. XV. 

Munro. Commander of Fort William Henry. Carver and 
other early historians spell the name Monro. 

Narragansett. An American breed of small hardy horses, 
especially sure-footed. They were formerly much 
used as saddle horses. The name comes from a tribe 
of Algonkin Indians formerly living about Narragansett 
Bay in Rhode Island. See Cooper’s note II, 6. 

Onondaga (on-onda'ga). One of the tribes of the Iroquois 
Confederacy. See Cooper’s note, II, 2 and XII. 

Oneidas (o-ni'-das). Indians of an Iroquoian tribe former¬ 
ly living near Oneida Lake in New York, and one of 
the tribes of the Indian Confederacy. Introd., V, XIX. 

Potomac (Po-to'-mak). River flowing through West Vir¬ 
ginia, Maryland and Virginia into Chesapeake Bay. III. 

Scaroon. Now Schroon (skroon) Lake in Essex and War¬ 
ren counties. New York. XXI. 

Seneca (sen'e-ka). One of the tribes of Iroquois Indians 
formerly of Western New York. The most numerous 
and warlike of the Five Nations. See Cooper’s note, 
II, 2. 

Tamenund. Heckewelder, Indian Nations XXVIII, has 
Tamenand. A famous Delaware sachem and patriarch 
of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The 
Tammany society of New York City, founded in 1789, 
was named from him. He was facetiously canonized 


528 


The Last of the Mohicans 


as the patron saint of the republic. At the beginning 
of the nineteenth century, under Aaron Burr, the so¬ 
ciety dominated New York politics and it still con¬ 
trols many votes. 

Tuscarora. One of the tribes of Iroquois Indians former¬ 
ly living in North Carolina. It was conquered in 1713 
and the remnant of the t-ribe joined the Five Nations 
making them six. XII. 

Unames (u-nahm'-mis), Turtle. The totem of the Dela¬ 
wares. See Cooper’s note and the end of XXXIII. 

Uttaica. A Delaware mourner for Uncas in the funeral 
scene. XXXIII. 

Vauban, Sebastien Le Prestre, Marquis de, (dee Vo'-ban), 
1633-1707. A celebrated French military engineer of 
the reign of Louis XIV. He superintended the forti¬ 
fication of Dunkirk, Calais, Paris, and other cities. 

Wapanachki. A northern tribe kindred to the Delawares. 
Used by Cooper for the Delaware stock. XXXIII. 

Wassawattime. Indian killed in the fight at the Falls. XI. 

Webb , General. In command of Fort Edward. I. 

Wiss-en-tush. A Huron. Father of Reed-that-bends, the 
coward. XXIV. 

Woolwich Warren (wool'-ich). The present Royal Mili¬ 
tary Academy, the seat of the Royal arsenal. 

Wyandot (wian'-dot). One of a tribe or a collateral tribe 
of the Iroquois Indians, XIII. 

Yengeese. Indian version of “English.” The singular form 
is Yengee. Cooper follows Heckewelder in deriving 
Yankee from Yengee. Of the many derivations sug¬ 
gested for Yankee this is the most* plausible. XXIX. 


SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY OR REPORT 


Special Topics. Manners and customs of pioneers. In¬ 
dian manners and customs. Indian eloquence. The wood¬ 
craft of the story: its interest, its validity, its importance 
for the plot. The character of the warfare of the period. 
The historical background of the book. How strong is the 
historical element compared with that in a Walter Scott 
romance? The geography of the story: the routes taken. 
Digressions or episodes. Vivid elements or memorable 
scenes. Passages conveying the charm and mystery of the 
woods. Preeminent moments and situations. Are they 
historical? Which is the most interesting or exciting 
chapter ? 

The Characters. Are they alive? Do they seem real 
or shadowy? Are they stock, or individualized and con¬ 
vincing? Do their traits change and develop as the nar¬ 
rative proceeds, or remain stationary? Are their fates 
determined by their characters or by outside circumstances? 
Are the characters of the Indians or the whites painted 
more strongly or subtly by Cooper? Does he finish his por¬ 
traits minutely? Does he show a profound knowledge of 
human nature? 

Describe the personal appearance and characteristics of 
Gamut, Heyward, Alice and Cora, Munro, Montcalm, the 
Scout, Le Renard Subtil, Chingachgook, Uncas. Contrast 
the traits of Uncas and Heyward, of Cora and Alice. 

The Construction. Around what event does the nar¬ 
rative revolve? Is the love story in the background or the 
foreground? Select the chief happenings in each chapter 
or in the most important chapters. Has each chapter a 
surprise element? Are the incidents prepared for by in¬ 
dications, as the narrative proceeds, or do they occur by 
chance? Are the violent scenes central or pivotal, or 
merely incidental? Distinguish the two sections of the 
plot, each having its groundwork of flight and pursuit. 
Is the interest maintained with equal strength in both 
sections? Would any outcome for the story other than 
that in chapter xxxiii have been possible? 

The Style. Is Cooper’s style self-conscious? Does he 
select every word carefully, or pay much attention to 

[ 529 ] 


530 


The Last of the Mohicans 


revision? Does his expression deserve close study? Is it' 
compact and finished? Loose? Hurried? Prolix? Awk¬ 
ward? Does it serve its purpose well? 

Collect the scout’s disparaging names for the Indians, 
his epithets or phrases for Cora and Alice, his picturesque 
similes from nature. 

The Book as a Whole. Of what relative importance 
in the narrative are the parts played by Cooper’s imagina¬ 
tion, by the results of his observation, by his manner of 
expression? Is he greater as an inventor of plots or a 
creator of character? Is he better with men or women 
characters? With Indians or whites? What leaves the 
strongest impression on you as you read? To what is his 
international popularity due? 

Is there much irrelevant matter in the book? Too much 
talk or discussion? Is the book too literal? What are 
your impressions of the author’s temper or convictions? 
What seem to you the weakest phases of the book? What 
elements lend it its power? 


APPENDIX 


Mark Twain on Cooper 1 

For several years Cooper was daily in the society of 
artillery, and lie ought to have noticed that when a cannon¬ 
ball strikes the ground it either buries itself or skips a 
hundred feet or so; skips again a hundred feet or so—and 
so on, till it finally gets tired and rolls. Now in one 
place he loses some “females”—as he always calls women— 
in the edge of a wood near a plain at night in a fog, on 
purpose to give Bumppo a chance to show off the delicate 
art of the forest before the reader. These mislaid people 
are hunting for a fort. They hear a cannon-blast, and a 
cannon-ball presently comes rolling into the wood and stops 
at their feet. To the females this suggests nothing. The 
case is different with the admirable Bumppo. I wish I may 
never know peace again if he doesn't strike out promptly 
and follow the track of that cannon-ball across the plain, 
through the dense fog and find the fort. Isn’t it a daisy? 
If Cooper had any real knowledge of Nature’s ways of 
doing things, he had a most delicate art in concealing 
the fact. For instance Chingachgook (pronounced Chicago, 
I think) has lost the trail of a person he is tracking through 
the forest. Apparently that trail is hopelessly lost. Neither 
you nor I could ever have guessed out the way to find it. 
It was very different with Chicago. Chicago was not 
stumped for long. He turned a running stream out of its 
course, and there, in the slush in its old bed, were that 
person’s moccasin, tracks. The current did not wash them 
away, as it would have done in other like cases—no, even 
the eternal laws of Nature have to vacate when Cooper 
wants to put up a delicate job of woodcraft on the reader. 

J From “Fenimore Cooper’s Literary Offences” in How to 
Tell a Story and Other Essays, 1897. (Essay reprinted 
from the North American Review, 1895.) 


[ 581 ] 



Some Comments by Professor W. L. Phelps 2 
[Compare XIV, pages 202-04.] 

In this passage we see that the ball had done what Mark 
Twain said it ought to do, that it was TJncas, not Bumppo, 
who thought of finding the place where it had last struck 
and bounded, and that the anthills made the little furrow 
possible, thus giving the direction. Unless one looked up 
the passage that Mark alluded to, one would take his 
word that the ball came rolling into the wood, stopped at 
the feet of the party, and that Bumppo promptly followed 
the track of that ball across the plain through the dense 
fog. And to take Mark’s word here would be doing an 
injustice to Cooper. 

[Compare XXI, page 314.] 

No one enjoys Mark Twain’s humor more than I; but 
here again we are forced to believe that in dealing with 
Cooper he preferred to make a joke rather than to report 
accurately. The matter would be of little importance were 
it not for the fact that Mark’s attack on Cboper is funda¬ 
mentally serious, and is based on examples which he has 
misquoted. In the above passage, Chingachgook, or Chicago, 
becomes Uncas: instead of turning A running stream out of 
its course, he raked the earth across a turbid little rill 
which trickled from a spring. Instead of the current wash¬ 
ing it away, the “moccasin-tracks” were not there, and 
there was no current to wash them away; but after the 
trickle had been diverted, and the moist little bed dried, 
there was — to the sharp eye of Uncas — a faint print of a 
moccasin. 

I think Cooper will survive Mark Twain’s attack upon 
him. 

4'rom Some Makers of American Literature, 1922. Pages 
61, 63. 


[ 532 ] 



The Massacre* 


At the very dawn of day, the Savages reassembled about 
the intrenchments. They began by asking the English for 
goods, provisions,—in a word, for all the riches that their 
greedy eyes could see; but these demands were made in 
a tone that foretold a blow with a spear as the price of a 
refusal. The English dispossessed and despoiled them¬ 
selves, and reduced themselves to nothing, that they might 
buy at least- life by this general renunciation . . . The body 
of four hundred men of the French troops, selected to pro¬ 
tect the retreat of the enemy, arrived, and drew up in a 
line on both sides. The English began to defile. Woe to 
all those who brought up the rear, or to stragglers whom 
indisposition or any other cause separated however little 
from the troop. They were so many dead whose bodies 
very soon strewed the ground and covered the inclosure 
of the intrenchment. This butchery which in the begin¬ 
ning was the work of only a few Savages, was the signal 
which made nearly all of them so many ferocious beasts. 
. . . However the massacre was not of long continuance, 
or so great as such fury gave us cause to fear; the number 
of men killed was hardly more than forty or fifty ... In 
the midst of all this I arrived. No, I do not believe that 
any one can be a man and be insensible in such sorrowful 
circumstances ... Of what help could four hundred men 
be against about fifteen hundred furious Savages who were 
not distinguishing us from the enemy? . . . Monsieur de 
Montcalm—who was not apprised of the affair for some 
time, on account of the distance to his tent—came at the 
first notice to the place of uproar, with a celerity which 
showed the goodness and nobility of his heart. He seemed 
to be in several places at once, he would reappear, he was 
everywhere, he used prayers, menaces, promises; he tried 
everything and at last resorted to force. In the meantime, 
the tumult was continually increasing, when happily some 
one thought of calling out to the English, who formed a 
large body, to hasten their march. This forced march 
had its effect; the Savages—partly through the futility 
of their pursuit, partly satisfied with their captures— 


[5S3] 


534 


The Last of the Mohicans 


retired: the few who remained were easily dispersed. . . 
Finally, we went so far as to ransom the English, at great 
expense, and take them from the hands of the Savages by 
paying money; so that nearly four hundred of them are 
in Quebec, ready to embark for Boston. Could we more 
sincerely make amends for the violation of the treaty? 
These statements seem to me unanswerable. 

The Savages, then, are alone responsible for the in¬ 
fringement of the law of nations; and it is only to their 
insatiable ferocity and their independence that the cause 
of it can be ascribed. 


3 From The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents, ed¬ 
ited by Reuben Gold Thwaites. Vol. LXX, pages 179-197. 



















































































































































































































































































































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